HE Burgravine Betty had a curious glitter in those eyes of hers, that generally astonished the stranger by their soft flower-blue in her olive face. Upon cheeks usually colourless she wore a dark flush, yet, withal, she was full of smiles: was it not the wedding morning of the little Baroness Sidonia, her husband's niece?
The old Burg of Wellenshausen, on the top of the crag, had been in a mighty bustle these three days; for singular circumstances, and the bridegroom's unwavering determination—he was in a position to dictate terms and did dictate them—had hurried the date of the ceremony in unprecedented fashion. His desire to see the last of his uncanny host, and to be free from the prying and challenging eyes of his hostess, was second only to the yearning for the dear solitude à deux with his young bride.
Had the neighbours of the Burgrave of Wellenshausen been available (and the heads of the few great houses of the environs were at the Court of Jerome, making merry, regardless of universal war and of brewing sedition), they could hardly have been invited on such scant notice. And yet it was the greatest heiress of the country that was to be married this day; and the man she was to wed, a young Austrian, Graf von Waldorf-Kilmansegg—kinsman of the Burgravine—was no whit her inferior in blood, looks, or purse. For so hasty a union, it was a marvellously fitting one: and the ceremony in the little stone chapel nestling under the frowning walls of the Burg was, if ungraced by guests, charming in its simplicity and earnestness. The bridegroom looked manly and enamoured; the bride was sweet in childish dignity, with a certain dainty composure. The Burgrave looked the "noble father" to the last detail, and shed tears in his moustache, whereat the Burgravine's eyes glittered with a more steely flash than ever.
At breakfast, later, all went with the same smoothness; and, if there was an indecorous absence of response displayed by the young couple, as well as by the gracious mistress of the Castle, when the enthusiastic toasts were proposed (and deeply drunk) by the Burgrave, none could complain of the quality of the glances exchanged by the bride and the bridegroom over their perfunctory libations. As for the Burgravine Betty, she well-nigh matched her lord in tossing the Sillery down her delicate throat.
Yet was she in a strange hurry to get the little new Countess Kilmansegg away from the feast into the privacy of her own turret apartment, ostensibly to robe her for the journey. The bridegroom followed his bride with a long, deep glance; which catching, the Burgravine Betty tossed her head.
Once alone with the girl, she whisked the bridal veil from the yellow head with such feverish and ungentle hands that Sidonia turned round to look upon her in amaze—only to meet a positive glare from the blue eyes.
"Why, Aunt Betty!"
"Why, Sidonia!—forgive, I should say Most High Lady Countess!"
"Have I done anything?" stammered the child, forgetful of her new dignity. "Have I vexed you?" Her young heart was overflowing with tenderness: she fain would part tenderly from all she had known of home.
"Vexed?—I?" quoth the lady.
Here they were interrupted by a frightened-looking tirewoman, whom the Burgravine drove away with actual fierceness.
"I will myself attend to the Countess. Get you gone! Nay, my love," proceeded she, once more addressing her niece, and in a biting tone of sweetness, "wherefore should I be vexed? I may be ashamed for my sex; I am still (I must confess) under the shock of the recent scandal, which has rendered necessary this humiliating marriage,
"In Heaven's name!" interrupted the bride, "what is this?" She removed the myrtle wreath with steady fingers from her fair tresses, and then approached with a countenance singularly altered and aged. "You must tell me what you mean, Aunt Betty," she said.
"Were you as innocent as you pretend," retorted the Burgravine, now fairly panting, "it were no kindness to you, child, to let you depart in ignorance of the truth. But you can scarce be blind to the fact that the poor young man below has but wedded you to save your name, your honour."
Sidonia went white to the lips. "I don't understand… …" she faltered. But there was a great horror gathering in her eyes.
"Do you need to be told, then," cried the other, clapping her plump hands together in exasperation, "that if a young girl spends a night in a cave alone with a young man, her reputation is not worth a silver groat?"
The blood raced back to the bride's cheeks.