CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.

"They spake not a word, But, like dumb statues, or breathless stores, Stared at each other, and looked deadly pale."--SHAKESPEARE

It is not my intention to chronicle the events of that foreign tour. Suffice it to say, it came to an end, at last; and, Captain Guy Campbell, Willard Drummond, and his betrothed stood once more upon the shore of their native land.

There was a joyful meeting that day in the parsonage. Good Mrs. Brantwell, as she again clasped her favorite, Sibyl, in her arms, shed tears of joy.

Those twelve months of absence had greatly improved Sibyl. The rich bloom of perfect health again mantled her cheeks; her magnificent eyes, brilliant with hope and happiness, once more outshone her diamonds. Through all the foreign cities through which she had traveled, her dazzling beauty had created the deepest sensation. Known to be an heiress, beauty, and belle, countless hearts had been laid at her feet; but Sibyl never for an instant, in thought or act, was unfaithful to that first, strong, undying love that was part of her very nature.

And now the period of Willard Drummond's mourning was passed, and they had returned home, to be united at last.

How ardently and truly he loved Sibyl now--far better than he had every one before. How proudly he had exulted in the knowledge that this peerless, queenly girl, at whose feet coronets had been laid, and rejected, was his--his alone; would soon be his bride--his wife. How his heart had swelled with triumph when he beheld the envious looks and jealous glances bestowed upon him, by more than one titled nobleman of other lands. He longed, as the blind long for sight, for the time when this glorious, radiant Sibyl would be his own, undisputed wife, beyond earthly power to separate them. Until that time came, he must live in uncertainty, not knowing whether this prize might not yet slip through his fingers.

That time, so ardently looked forward to, was at hand now. Preparations for the wedding were already commenced on a scale of magnificence that was destined to electrify the community far and near, and which the princely fortunes of the bride and bridegroom could alone justify.

The day was appointed, and invitations were sent out to all the _elite_ within fifty miles, to attend the ball, with which it was then customary to conclude a wedding.

Sibyl, with her usual willfulness, would not be married in the house in the evening; it did not seem right, she said. She would be married in the church, in the morning; and, as this was of little consequence to the rest, her wish was immediately acceded to.

On rosy wings sped the time, until the auspicious morning dawned. Brightly and cloudlessly arose the sun, ushering in a day as glorious as ever came out of the heavens. How little did any one dream how darkly and fatally that day was destined to end?

It was arranged that the day following the ceremony the bridal pair should again take their departure for a wedding tour, and everything was prepared accordingly.

Good Mrs. Brantwell, as mistress of the ceremonies, had a very busy time of it for the preceding two weeks. Milliners and dressmakers from the city filled the upper rooms, and cooks and confectioners the lower regions. To her lot it fell to purchase dresses, laces, jewels, etc., for the use of the bride--who, with her characteristic indifference to all such things, would, if left to herself, have committed the unpardonable sin of being married in her simple white robe of India muslin, instead of her splendid silver brocade, frosted with seed-pearls, which the sumptuous taste of that worthy lady had selected.

Among the many guests invited to the "wedding-feast" we may mention our old friend, Mrs. Tom. Poor little Mrs. Tom! Since the loss of little Christie she had never been the same bright, brisk, breezy, chirruping body she had been before, and though still active and bustling as ever, her cheery laugh was far less seldom heard. Mr. Carl Henley, too, was to be present; and made his appearance on the eventful morning in a long blue "swaller-tail," brilliant with brass buttons, his boots and hair shining with lard, and his round, full-moon face wearing a look of sublime beatification, serene in the blissful consciousness of a new suit of clothes and a pair of white gloves, every greasy hair in his head breathing "peace on earth, good will to man.'

Two young girls from Westport were to be bride-maids, and a young Englishman, whom they had met abroad, together with a cousin of Mr. Drummond's were to be groomsmen. Captain Campbell, as her nearest relative, was to give the bride away.

Early in the morning, the first carriages began to arrive, and soon the lower hall and drawing-room were crowded with guests, waiting to accompany the bridal party to church.

In her room, before a full-length mirror, Sibyl Campbell, so soon to be Sibyl Drummond, stood, whiles half a dozen girls, headed by Mrs. Brantwell, arrayed her for bridal.

Magnificently beautiful she looked as she stood there, her rich robe of sheeny silk floating about her regal form, her queenly brow clasped by a tiara of finest diamonds, her gauzy veil of costliest lace enveloping her like a cloud of mist--her dark cheeks flushed with excitement, her magnificent eyes outflashing the jewels she wore.

"Beautiful! glorious! radiant!" broke from the lips of her attendants, as they stepped back to survey the effect.

"Yes, beautiful indeed!" mentally exclaimed Mrs. Brantwell, "beautiful beyond compare looks my peerless Sibyl in her bridal robes."

And just then the door was thrown impetuously open, and one of the bride-maids, a vivacious little lady, with twinkling brown eyes, burst in, exclaiming:

"Girls! girls! aren't you ready yet. Oh, my goodness! Sibyl, how splendid you look. But do hurry! That happiest of mortal men, Mr. Willard Drummond, is waiting, with all the rest of the folks--a hundred and fifty if there's one--down stairs. Hurry!"

Thus abjured, like a flock of startled birds, the bower-maidens fled to arrange their own toilet, and Sibyl was alone with Mrs. Brantwell.

"My own precious Sibyl! and am I to lose you at last?" said Mrs. Brantwell, clasping her in her arms, and gazing upon her sparkling face, with eyes of yearning fondness.

"Dear Mrs. Brantwell, my second mother, come what may, let the future bring what it will, you will ever hold the second place in my heart," said Sibyl, dropping her head on the shoulder of her friend.

"And you are happy, _perfectly_ happy, my own darling?"

"Oh, yes, perfectly happy, too happy for words to say. Oh, Mrs. Brantwell, my only fear is that such intense joy is too blissful to last."

"And you have perfect trust, perfect faith in him who is so soon to be your husband? Does no doubt still linger amid all this love?"

"None, none! not the slightest, not the faintest. Oh! I wronged him by ever doubting his truth. I could stake my hopes of heaven on his fidelity now," exclaimed Sibyl, with some of her old fierce impetuosity.

"Thank Heaven for that!" said Mrs. Brantwell, with a sigh of relief. "Oh! Sibyl, dearest, eradicate forever from your heart this fatal dream of jealousy; to doubt one we love is deepest misery."

"Oh! I know it; I know it," said Sibyl, with a shudder, as she recalled the stormy past.

And just then the tripping of light feet approaching the door was heard.

"It is the girls coming back to take you down stairs," said Mrs. Brantwell. "And now, my own, my dearest girl, may Heaven bless you, and grant you all happiness."

"Amen!" solemnly, almost sadly, said Sibyl, as she returned her embrace, and stood waiting the entrance of her bride-maids.

They burst in in a bevy, fluttering round the bride like bright-winged birds, as they shook out their glittering plumage with little, white, jeweled hands, and announced that the bridegroom and his friends were waiting for them in the hall below.

And together the bride and her friends descended the stairs, followed by Mrs. Brantwell, and entered the hall, crowded with guests.

A low murmur of admiration passed through the throng at sight of the radiant bride. And Willard Drummond, handsome, suave, and stately, stepped forward and drew her hand within his arm, and led her to the carriage that was to convey them to the church.

The others followed; and as that sacred edifice was situated but a few yards from the house, they reached it in a short time.

The church, too, was crowded, mostly by strangers, some from places far distant, drawn together by the rumors of the bride's wondrous beauty. So crowded was it that half the bridal party could not find seats, but were obliged to stand.

Mr. Brantwell, in full canonicals, stood, book in hand, awaiting their approach.

They advanced under the admiring eyes of the crowd, and stood before him.

And at that very instant, like an inspiration, flashed across the eyes of Willard Drummond the remembrance of the strange vision he had seen years before. Here it was, all there before him. The crowded church, the bridal party, the clergyman and bride wearing exactly the faces of those he had beheld then.

A thrill of vague terror, he knew not why, shot through his heart. He thought of Christie--lost, murdered Christie--and of that other bridal, which took place at night, in secrecy. But then, lifting his eyes, they fell on the gloriously beautiful face of her who stood before him, and all was forgotten once more but his bride.

The ceremony began, amid a breathless silence, as the vast concourse listened, with the eagerness they always do on such occasions. The questions were put and answered in the usual manner, when a slight tumult at the door broke for the first time the impressive silence.

The clergyman had almost concluded the ceremony, and the bridegroom was just putting the nuptial ring on the finger of the bride, with the words: "With this ring I do thee wed; with all my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of----"

"_Hold!_ I forbid the marriage!" cried a deep, stern voice, that rang through the church.

Every head was turned, every eye was riveted on the speaker, a tall, determined-looking man.

White with vague apprehensions, the bride and bridegroom turned round, while the bride-maids shrieked outright at the interruption.

Mr. Brantwell stood, like one thunderstruck, book in hand.

And the stranger, the cause of all this commotion, walked steadily up the aisle and stood before them.

"Who are you, sir?" was the amazed and angry question from the lips of Captain Campbell, who was the first to recover from his shock of astonishment at this astounding interruption.

"Sheriff Lawless, sir; and it is my painful duty to prevent this marriage."

"By what right?" fiercely demanded the young man, with kindling eyes.

"By a right all-sufficient for the purpose, young man." calmly answered the sheriff. "I have a warrant here for the arrest of----"

"_Whom?_"

"Miss Sibyl Campbell, the bride!"

"Great Heaven! on what charge? You are mad, man."

"On the charge of having, fifteen months ago, assassinated Christina Tomlinson, on Campbell's Isle!"

A wild, terrific shriek, so full of passionate grief that it thrilled through every heart, rang through the house. It was the voice of Mrs. Tom.