Almost sixteen months had passed since the dewless September
morning, when Mabel had gathered roses in the garden walks, and her
brother's return had shaken the dew with the bloom from her young
heart. It was the evening of Christmas-day, and the tide of wassail,
the blaze of yule, were high at Ridgeley. Without, the fall of snow
that had commenced at sundown, was waxing heavier and the wind
fiercer. In-doors, fires roared and crackled upon every hearth;
there was a stir of busy or merry life in every room. About the
spacious fire-place in the "baronial" hall was a wide semicircle of
young people, and before that in the parlor, a cluster of elders,
whose graver talk was enlivened, from time to time, by the peals of
laughter that tossed into jubilant surf the stream of the juniors'
converse.
Nearest the mantel, on the left wing of the line, sat the three
months' bride, Imogene Barksdale, placid, dove-eyed, and smiling as
of yore, very comely with her expression of satisfied prettiness
nobody called vanity, and bedecked in her "second day's dress" of
azure silk and her bridal ornaments. Her husband hovered on the
outside of the ring, now pulling the floating curls of a girl-cousin
(every third girl in the country was his cousin, once, twice, or
thrice-removed, and none resented the liberties he, as a married
man, was pleased to take), anon whispering in the ear of a bashful
maiden interrogatories as to har latest admirer or rumored
engagement; oftenest leaning upon the back of his wife's chair, a
listener to what was going on, his hand lightly touching her
lace-veiled shoulders, until her head gradually inclined against his
arm. They were a loving couple, and not shy of testifying their
consent to the world.
"They remind me irresistibly of a pair of plump babies sucking at
opposite ends of a stick of sugar candy!" Rosa Tazewell said aside
to the hostess, as the latter paused beside her on her way through
the hall to the parlor.
"The candy is very sweet!" replied Mrs. Aylett, charitably, but
laughing at the conceit--the low, musical laugh that was at once
girlish in its gleefulness, yet perfectly well-bred.
Mr. Aylett heard it from his stand on the parlor-rug, and sent a
quick glance in that direction. It was slow in returning to the
group surrounding him. He had married a beautiful woman--so said
everybody--and a fascinating, as even everybody's wife did not
dispute. In his sight, she was simply and entirely worthy of the
distinction he had bestowed upon her; an adornment to Ridgeley and
his name. From their wedding-day, his deportment toward her had been
the same as it was to-night--attentive, but never officious;
deferential, yet far removed from servility; a manner that, without
approximating uxoriousness, yet impressed the spectator with the
conviction that she was with him first and dearest among women; a
partner of whom, if that were possible, he was more proud than
fond--and of the depth and reality of his affection there could be
no question.