Madeline by Mary Jane Holmes

There was a fresh grave made in the churchyard, and another chair vacant at the cottage, where Maddy was at last alone. Unfettered by care and anxiety for sick ones, her aching heart was free to go to the stately mansion she had heard described so often, and where now two brides were busy with their preparations for the bridal hurrying on so fast. Since the letter read in the leafless October woods, Maddy had not heard from Guy directly, though Lucy had written a few brief lines, telling how happy she was, how strong she was growing, and how much like himself Guy was becoming. Maddy had been less than a woman if the last intelligence had failed to affect her unpleasantly. She did not wish Guy to regret his decision; but to be forgotten so soon after so strong protestations of affection was a little mortifying, and Maddy's heart throbbed painfully as she read the letter, half hoping it might prove the last she should receive from Lucy Atherstone.

Guy had left no orders for any changes to be made at Aikenside; but Agnes, who was largely imbued with a love of bustle and repair, had insisted that at least the suite of rooms intended for the bride should be thoroughly renovated with new paper and paint, carpets and furniture. This plan Mrs. Noah opposed, for she guessed how little Guy would care for the change; but Agnes was resolved, and as she had great faith in Maddy's taste, she insisted that she should go to Aikenside, and pass her judgment upon the improvements. It would do her good, she said-little dreaming how much it cost Maddy to comply with her wishes, or how fearfully the poor, crushed heart ached, as Maddy went through the handsome rooms intended for Guy's young bride; but Mrs. Noah guessed it all, and pitied the white-faced girl, whose deep mourning robes told the loss of dear ones by death, but gave no token of that great loss, tenfold worse than death.