THE GHOST OF LEMON LANE.. 463
Lemon’s love, just as everything was going right, suddenly turned and went all wrong. And the
ghost did the mischief at last.
The day after the day on which he had proposed, the squire walked down, in a state of blissful beatitude, to call upon his fascinator; and, to his unutterable consternation, he found her huddled all in a heap in a corner of the parlor, with a wild and horrified face.
“Go! go! go!” shrieked Mrs. Seaton, deliriously. “Oh! for pity’s sake, never come near me again!”
The squire stood aghast.
“Oh! don’t come in! Don’t look at me! Don't speak to me!” wildly adjured the widow. “Only let me fly from this dreadful place, never to return!”
“Good Lord!” gasped the squire, “what in thunder’s the matter?”
“The ghost! the ghost” exclaimed the widow, frantically. “Oh, Squire Lemon! I saw the ghost last night, and it spoke tome. Oh, Squire Lemon! it spoke to me!” shrieked Mrs. Seaton.
“And what the deuce did it say?” gasped the squire, in utter consternation.
“It spoke of you! Oh, Squire Lemon! it was awful! All in white, and its throat cut, and streaming blood. “I don’t know how it is, I am not mad!”
“I don’t think you’re far from it,” said the squire. “What did it say of me?”
“It said you were a cruel tyrant; that you were breaking the heart of your only child— that a man who would tyrannize over an only daughter would tyrannize over his wife! And i’s true! I will obey its warning! All is at an end between us!’
“You’re sure you saw the ghost?” said the squire, at last, rather staggered.
“Sure as sure!”
“And it spoke them words?”
“It spoke those words.”
“And you won’t marry me unless—unless I let Nelly marry the drygoods man?”
“Exactly, Squire Lemon.”
“Well, then, look here now! I'd a good deal rather lose Nelly than lose you; so, sup posing I promise to let her heave herself away, you'll stick to your bargain?”
“On this condition, Squire Lemon, that you let your daughter marry the man of her choice first. I dare not otherwise. Once let me see her married, and I will be your wife, whenever you wish it.”
“It’s a go!” cried Squire Lemon. “I'll tele- graph to the city this very hour, and marry the two young noodles out of hand!”
“Dearest Peter,’ murmured the widow, in melting tones, ‘how good you are! I shall be the happiest of women when your wife. I will have to go to Boston to purchase my wedding- dress. The young man will be here by Saturday night, 1 ware say—why not let the wedding take place the ensuing Monday? I will return home Monday evening; let them be miny married and out of the way before I return.’
Squire Lemon listened, as to the voice of Destiny, and promised. What would he not have promised, with that lovely hand on his shoulder, that musical voice in his ear.
Mrs. Seaton departed for the city; and the following evening Mr. George Lyon, a handsome, dashing young fellow, with, the squire thought, an oddly familiar look in his face, arrived. He had no words to thank the father of his Eleanor, who, thinking perpetually of his absent widow, cut him short, and told him to go and palaver to Nelly, he didn’t want any of it.
Monday came—the wedding day. Early in the morning, Squire Lemon drove his daughter and two bridemaids, all impromptu, to the church, and duly gave her away to be married to the blissful Mr. George Lyon. The squire was in very bad temper on that auspicious morning, for no news had arrived from Mrs. Seaton.
The bridal-party drove from the church home, where breakfast awaited them; where a surprise awaited Squire Lemon, too, in the shape of a cockade note, which read:
“Come to the cottage in half an hour. I will
be true. Georgey SEATON.”
Sunshine flooded the soul of the squire. He drank his son-in-law’s health, and shook him cordially by the hand, and kissed Nelly, and blessed her, and made himself generally delightful, and then set out for the cottage.
Just as he was leaving the house, a delay occurred; the clergyman took him by the button- hole, and solicited a contribution for a new sounding-board. Ten precious minutes were thus wasted; then the squire broke away.
Stately and handsome as ever, in the parlor of the haunted house, stood Mrs. Seaton, still in her traveling-dress, a long, tweed cloak. She had a look in her face the squire had never seen there before, however. She waved him back, before he could speak.
“Wait one moment, Squire Lemon! I have been playing you a practical joke—a pardon- able one, I hope, and all because I loved your daughter so desperately. There is but brief time to explain, since I start with my bride in fifteen minutes. Behold!”
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