The weather was warmer far than at that season in our northern clime, the
outside air balmy and delightful, and through the wide-open doors and
windows glimpses might be caught of the beautiful grounds, lighted here
and there by a star-like lamp shining out among the foliage. Silent and
deserted they had been all the earlier part of the evening, but now group
after group, as they left the bountiful board, wandered into their green
alleys and gay parterres; low, musical tones, light laughter, and merry
jests floating out upon the quiet night air and waking the echoes of the
hills.
But the bride retired to her own apartments, where white satin, veil, and
orange blossoms, were quickly exchanged for an elegant traveling dress,
scarcely less becoming to her rare beauty.
She reappeared in the library, which had not been thrown open to the
guests, but where the relations and bridesmaids were gathered for the
final good-bye.
Mr. Dinsmore's family carriage, roomy, easy-rolling, and softly cushioned,
stood at the door upon the drive, its spirited gray horses pawing the
ground with impatience to be gone. It would carry the bride and groom--and
a less pretentious vehicle their servants--in two hours to the seaport
where they were to take the steamer for New Orleans; for their honeymoon
was to be spent at Viamede, Elsie still adhering to the plan of a year
ago.
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