CHAPTER XXX. THE RUSTIC BRIDGE. Pine Hill blazed with glory on the evening of the fifteenth of May. Eugene and Mary were married. The ceremony had been performed at the farm-house on The Great Bell, at six o’clock, in presence of the two families, and a few intimate personal friends. Dick Birch and Julia, Dr. Lynch and Miss Perkins, were groomsmen and bridesmaids. At half past six several gayly-decorated barges, prepared for the occasion by Ross Kingman, bore the party over the channel, and by seven o’clock the festivities at the Pine Hill mansion were fairly inaugurated. For certain cogent reasons, Eugene, generally opposed to much display, favored a universal gathering; and the most elaborate preparations had been made to celebrate the joyous occasion. Mary had been under the ban of public displeasure; she had been frowned upon, had been neglected and despised. Her husband wished to make this her triumph. If it was the way of the world to cast her off when in poverty and subjected to odious suspicions, it was also the way of the world to smile upon those whom fortune favored. Brilliant lights, gorgeous dresses, inspiring music, a sumptuous feast, put the world in excellently good humor with itself. Men from the city--caterers, decorators, fire-kings--had been at Pine Hill for a week. The house, large as it was, was not large enough to hold the multitude; for all Poppleton was bidden to the feast. Thousands of fantastic lamps and Chinese lanterns flashed among the trees of the grounds. Pyrotechnic fires, of all colors, illuminated the scene, and one might see to read fine print anywhere between the house and the river. A vast pavilion had been erected for the supper, and a small army of cooks and waiters were as busy as bees in their temporary quarters. The Poppleton Brass Band played near the river, and the Germania, from the city, on the lawn before the house. At seven o’clock, when the guests began to arrive, Eugene and the bride stood at the head of the great drawing-room. Mary had been subjected to the manipulations of Madame La Somebody, from Paris, and her dress of white satin was the perfection of the mode. Nothing more beautiful in human form could be conceived of than Mrs. Eugene Hungerford, and the admiration bestowed upon her was unmeasured and unstinted. She was happy; the clouds had rolled away, and behind their dense volume, paradise had opened to her. Earth had become heaven. The fondest dream that ever gladdened the heart of woman was realized in that blissful hour. She was the wife of the man she loved--who loved her. This was joy enough without the gorgeous surroundings with which she passed to her estate of bliss. Eugene Hungerford, tall, well formed, and elegant in his manner, never looked better, and never felt happier. Even the thought that she who stood by his side had been another’s for a brief period, was forgotten. His cup was full; the one dreg at the bottom could not be seen.