CHAPTER XII.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　WEDDING.Sylvia was awakened on her wedding morning by a curious choking sound,and starting up found Prue crying over her as if her heart were broken."What has happened? Is Geoffrey ill? Is all the silver stolen? Can't theBishop come?" she asked, wondering what calamity could move her sisterto tears at such a busy time.Prue took Sylvia in her arms, and rocking to and fro as if she werestill a baby, poured forth a stream of words and tears together."Nothing has happened; I came to call you, and broke down because it wasthe last time I should do it. I've been awake all night, thinking of youand all you've been to me since I took you in my arms nineteen yearsago, and said you should be mine. My little Sylvia, I've been neglectfulof so many things, and now I see them all; I've fretted you with myways, and haven't been patient enough with yours; I've been selfish evenabout your wedding, and it won't be as you like it; you'll reproach mein your heart, and I shall hate myself for it when you are gone never tobe my care and comfort any more. And--oh, my dear, my dear, what shall Ido without you?"This unexpected demonstration from her prosaic sister touched Sylviamore than the most sentimental lamentations from another. It brought tomind all the past devotion, the future solitude of Prue's life, and sheclung about her neck tearless but very tender."I never shall reproach you, never cease to love and thank you for allyou've been to me, my dear old girl. You mustn't grieve over me, orthink I shall forget you, for you never shall be forsaken; and very soonI shall be back, almost as much your Sylvia as ever. Mark will live onone side, I shall live on the other, and we'll be merry and cosytogether. And who knows but when we are both out of your way you willlearn to think of yourself and marry also."At this Prue began to laugh hysterically, and exclaimed, with more thanher usual incoherency--"I must tell you, it was so very odd! I didn't mean to do so, becauseyou children would tease me; but now I will to make you laugh, for it'sa bad omen to cry over a bride, they say. My dear, that gouty Mr.MacGregor, when I went in with some of my nice broth last week (Hughslops so, and he's such a fidget, I took it myself), after he had eatenevery drop before my eyes, wiped his mouth and asked me to marry him.""And you would not, Prue?""Bless me, child, how could I? I must take care of my poor dear father,and he isn't pleasant in the least, you know, but would wear my life outin a week. I really pitied him, however, when I refused him, with anapkin round his neck, and he tapped his waistcoat with a spoon socomically, when he offered me his heart, as if it were something good toeat.""How very funny! What made him do it, Prue?""He said he'd watched the preparations from his window, and got sointerested in weddings that he wanted one himself, and felt drawn to meI was so sympathetic. That means a good nurse and cook, my dear. Iunderstand these invalid gentlemen, and will be a slave to no man so fatand fussy as Mr. Mac, as my brother calls him. It's not respectful, butI like to refresh myself by saying it just now.""Never mind the old soul, Prue, but go and have your breakfastcomfortably, for there's much to be done, and no one is to dress me butyour own dear self."At this Prue relapsed into the pathetic again, and cried over her sisteras if, despite the omen, brides were plants that needed much watering.The appearance of the afflicted Maria, with her face still partiallyeclipsed by the chamomile comforter, and an announcement that thewaiters had come and were "ordering round dreadful," caused Prue topocket her handkerchief and descend to turn the tables in every sense ofthe word.The prospect of the wedding breakfast made the usual meal a meremockery. Every one was in a driving hurry, every one was very muchexcited, and nobody but Prue and the colored gentlemen brought anythingto pass. Sylvia went from room to room bidding them good-by as the childwho had played there so long. But each looked unfamiliar in its stateand festival array, and the old house seemed to have forgotten heralready. She spent an hour with her father, paid Mark a little call inthe studio where he was bidding adieu to the joys of bachelorhood, andpreparing himself for the jars of matrimony by a composing smoke, andthen Prue claimed her.The agonies she suffered during that long toilet are beyond the powersof language to portray, for Prue surpassed herself and was the veryessence of fussiness. But Sylvia bore it patiently as a last sacrifice,because her sister was very tender-hearted still, and laughed and criedover her work till all was done, when she surveyed the effect withpensive satisfaction."You are very sweet, my dear, and so delightfully calm, you really dosurprise me. I always thought you'd have hysterics on your wedding-day,and got my _vinaigrette_ all ready. Keep your hands just as they are,with the handkerchief and bouquet, it looks very easy and rich. Dear me,what a spectacle I've made of myself! But I shall cry no more, not evenduring the ceremony as many do. Such displays of feeling are in very badtaste, and I shall be firm, perfectly firm, so if you hear any one sniffyou'll know it isn't me. Now I must go and scramble on my dress; first,let me arrange you smoothly in a chair. There, my precious, now think ofsoothing things, and don't stir till Geoffrey comes for you."Too tired to care what happened just then, Sylvia sat as she was placed,feeling like a fashion-plate of a bride, and wishing she could go tosleep. Presently the sound of steps as fleet as Mark's but lighter,waked her up, and forgetting orders, she rustled to the door with anexpression which fashion-plates have not yet attained."Good morning, little bride.""Good morning, bonny bridegroom."Then they looked at one another, and both smiled. But they seemed tohave changed characters, for Moor's usually tranquil face was full ofpale excitement; Sylvia's usually vivacious one, full of quietude, andher eyes wore the unquestioning content of a child who accepts somefriendly hand, sure that it will lead it right."Prue desires me to take you out into the upper hall, and when Mr. Deanebeckons, we are to go down at once. The rooms are full, and Jessie isready. Shall we go?""One moment: Geoffrey, are you quite happy now?""Supremely happy!""Then it shall be the first duty of my life to keep you so," and with agesture soft yet solemn, Sylvia laid her hand in his, as if endowing himwith both gift and giver. He held it fast and never let it go until itwas his own.In the upper hall they found Mark hovering about Jessie like an agitatedbee, about a very full-blown flower, and Clara Deane flapping him away,lest he should damage the effect of this beautiful white rose. For tenminutes, ages they seemed, the five stood together listening to the stirbelow, looking at one another, till they were tired of the sight andscent of orange blossoms, and wishing that the whole affair was safelyover. But the instant a portentous "Hem!" was heard, and a white gloveseen to beckon from the stair foot, every one fell into a flutter. Moorturned paler still, and Sylvia felt his heart beat hard against herhand. She herself was seized with a momentary desire to run away andsay "No" again; Mark looked as if nerving himself for immediateexecution, and Jessie feebly whispered--"Oh, Clara, I'm going to faint!""Good heavens, what shall I do with her? Mark, support her! My darlinggirl, smell this and bear up. For mercy sake do something, Sylvia, anddon't stand there looking as if you'd been married every day for ayear."In his excitement, Mark gave his bride a little shake. Its effect wasmarvellous. She rallied instantly, with a reproachful glance at hercrumpled veil and a decided--"Come quick, I can go now."Down they went, through a wilderness of summer silks, black coats, andbridal gloves. How they reached their places none of them ever knew;Mark said afterward, that the instinct of self preservation led him tothe only means of extrication that circumstances allowed. The moment theBishop opened his book, Prue took out her handkerchief and criedsteadily through the entire ceremony, for dear as were the proprieties,the "children" were dearer still.At Sylvia's desire, Mark was married first, and as she stood listeningto the sonorous roll of the service falling from the Bishop's lips, shetried to feel devout and solemn, but failed to do so. She tried to keepher thoughts from wandering, but continually found herself wondering ifthat sob came from Prue, if her father felt it very much, and when itwould be done. She tried to keep her eyes fixed timidly upon the carpetas she had been told to do, but they would rise and glance about againsther will.One of these derelictions from the path of duty, nearly produced acatastrophe. Little Tilly, the gardener's pretty child, had strayed infrom among the servants peeping at a long window in the rear, andestablished herself near the wedding group, looking like a small balletgirl in her full white frock and wreath pushed rakishly askew on hercurly pate. As she stood regarding the scene with dignified amazement,her eye met Sylvia's. In spite of the unusual costume, the baby knew herplaymate, and running to her, thrust her head under the veil with adelighted "Peep a bo!" Horror seized Jessie, Mark was on the brink of alaugh, and Moor looked like one fallen from the clouds. But Sylvia drewthe little marplot close to her with a warning word, and there shestayed, quietly amusing herself with "pooring" the silvery dress,smelling the flowers and staring at the Bishop.After this, all prospered. The gloves came smoothly off, the rings wentsmoothly on; no one cried but Prue, no one laughed but Tilly; the brideswere admired, the grooms envied; the service pronounced impressive, andwhen it ended, a tumult of congratulations arose.Sylvia always had a very confused idea of what happened during the nexthour. She remembered being kissed till her cheeks burned, and shakenhands with till her fingers tingled; bowing in answer to toasts, andforgetting to reply when addressed by the new name; trying to eat anddrink, and discovering that everything tasted of wedding cake; findingherself up stairs hurrying on her travelling dress, then down stairssaying good by; and when her father embraced her last of all, suddenlyrealizing with a pang, that she was married and going away, never to belittle Sylvia any more.Prue _was_ gratified to her heart's content, for, when the two bridalcarriages had vanished with handkerchiefs flying from their windows, inanswer to the white whirlwind on the lawn, Mrs. Grundy, with anapproving smile on her aristocratic countenance, pronounced this themost charming affair of the season.