Presently her father spoke again. "Have you any dresses, Zillah?"
"Plenty, papa."
"Oh, but I mean a wedding-dress--a fine new dress; white satin my darling wore; how beautiful she looked! and a veil you must have, and plenty of jewels--pearls and diamonds. My pet will be a lovely bride."
Every one of these words was a stab, and Zillah was dumb; but her father noticed nothing, of this. It was madness, but, like many cases of madness, it was very coherent.
"Send for your ayah, dear," he continued; "I must talk to her--about your wedding-dress."
Zillah rang the bell. As soon as the woman appeared the General turned to her with his usual feverish manner.
"Nurse," said he, "Miss Pomeroy is to be married at once. You must see--that she has every thing prepared--suitably--and of the very best."
The ayah stood speechless with amazement. This feeling was increased when Zillah said, in a cold monotone:
"Don't look surprised, nurse. It's quite true. I am to be married within a day or two."
Her master's absurdities the ayah could account for on the ground of delirium; but was "Little Missy" mad too? Perhaps sorrow had turned her brain, she thought. At any rate, it would be best to humor them.
"Missy had a white silk down from London last week, Sir."
"Not satin? A wedding-dress should be of satin," said the General.
"It does not matter, so that it is all white," said the nurse, with decision.
"Doesn't it? Very well," said the General. "But she must have a veil, nurse, and plenty of jewels. She must look like my darling. You remember, nurse, how she looked."
"Indeed I do, sahib, and you may leave all to me. I will see that Missy is as fine and grand as any of them."
The ayah began already to feel excited, and to fall in with this wild proposal. The very mention of dress had excited her Indian love of finery.
"That is right," said the General; "attend to it all. Spare no expense. Don't you go, my child," he continued, as Zillah rose and walked shudderingly to the window. "I think I can sleep, now that my mind is at ease. Stay by me, my darling child."
"Oh, papa, do you think I would leave you?" said Zillah, and she came back to the bed.
The doctor, who had been waiting until the General should become a little calmer, now administered an anodyne, and he fell asleep, his hand clasped in Zillah's, while she, fearful of making the slightest movement, sat motionless and despairing far into the night.
CHAPTER X.
A WEDDING IN EXTREMIS.
Two days passed; on the second Guy Molyneux arrived. Lord Chetwynde was ill, and could not travel. He sent a letter, however, full of earnest and hopeful sympathy. He would not believe that things were as bad as his old friend feared; the instant that he could leave he would come up to Pomeroy Court; or if by God's providence the worst should take place, he would instantly fetch Zillah to Chetwynde Castle; and the General might rely upon it that, so far as love and tenderness could supply a father's place, she should not feel her loss.
On Guy's arrival he was shown into the library. Luncheon was laid there, and the housekeeper apologized for Miss Pomeroy's absence. Guy took a chair and waited for a while, meditating on the time when he had last seen the girl who in a short time was to be tied to him for life. The event was excessively repugnant to him, even though he did not at all realize its full importance; and he would have given any thing to get out of it; but his father's command was sacred, and for years he had been bound by his father's word. Escape was utterly impossible. The entrance of the clergyman, who seemed more intent on the luncheon than any thing else, did not lessen Guy's feelings of repugnance. He said but little, and sank into a fit of abstraction, from which he was roused by a message that the General would like to see him. He hurried up stairs.
The General smiled faintly, and greeted him with as much warmth as his weak and prostrated condition would allow.
"Guy, my boy," said he, feebly, "I am very glad to see you."
To Guy the General seemed like a doomed man, and the discovery gave him a great shock, for he had scarcely anticipated any thing so bad as this. In spite of this, however, he expressed a hope that the General might yet recover, and be spared many years to them.
"No," said the General, sadly and wearily; "no; my days are numbered. I must die, my boy; but I shall die in peace, if I feel that I do not leave my child uncared for."
Guy, in spite of his dislike and repugnance, felt deeply moved.
"You need have no fear of that, Sir," he went on to say, in solemn, measured tones. "I solemnly promise you that no unhappiness shall ever reach her if I can help it. To the end of my life I will try to requite to her the kindness that you have shown to us. My father feels as I do, and he begged me to assure you, if he is not able to see you again, as he hopes to do, that the instant your daughter needs his care he will himself take her to Chetwynde Castle, and will watch over her with the same care and affection that you yourself would bestow; and she shall leave his home only for mine."
The General pressed his hand feebly. "God bless you!" he said, in a faint voice.
Suddenly a low sob broke the silence which followed. Turning hastily, Guy saw in the dim twilight of the sick-room what he had not before observed. It was a girl's figure crouching at the foot of the bed, her head buried in the clothes. He looked at her--his heart told him who it was--but he knew not what to say.
The General also had heard that sob. It raised no pity and compassion in him; it was simply some new stimulus to the one idea of his distempered brain. "What, Zillah!" he said, in surprise. "You here yet? I thought you had gone to get ready."
Still the kneeling figure did not move.
"Zillah," said the General, querulously, and with an excitement in his feeble voice which showed how readily he might lapse into complete delirium--"Zillah, my child, be quick. There is no time to lose. Go and get ready for your wedding. Don't you hear me? Go and dress yourself."
"Oh, papa!" moaned Zillah, in a voice which pierced to the inmost heart of Guy, "will it not do as I am? Do not ask me to put on finery at a time like this." Her voice was one of utter anguish and despair.
"A time like this?" said the General, rousing himself somewhat--"what do you mean, child? Does not the Bible say, Like as a bride adorneth herself--for her husband--and ever shall be--world without end--amen--yes--white satin and pearls, my child--oh yes--white pearls and satin--we are all ready--where are you, my darling?" Another sob was the only reply to this incoherent speech. Guy stood as if petrified. In his journey here he had simply tried to muster up his own resolution, and to fortify his own heart. He had not given one thought to this poor despairing child. Her sorrow, her anguish, her despair, now went to his heart. Yet he knew not what to do. How gladly he would have made his escape from this horrible