Half-an-hour afterwards they were married in the prison chapel. The
little place was naked enough now. No flowers, no flags, no carpets,
no cushions. Only the two rows of forms, without backs, and the
placards on the whitewashed walls at either side--"FOR MEN" and "FOR
WOMEN."
The deal table which served for altar was covered by a kitchen
table-cloth, on which nothing stood but a plain brass cross and a
couple of lighted candles in kitchen candlesticks.
Parson Cowley, in his surplice, stood in front of it, with his
well-thumbed prayer-book in his trembling hands. The two who were
being married were kneeling at his feet--the sin-soiled man and the
daughter of a line of old Manx Kings, bearing a name that had been
written high in English history for five hundred years. The jailer
and his wife were standing somewhere in the shadows. There was no
sound except that of the parson's quavering voice within and the low
rumble of the sea outside.
"_I require and charge you, as ye will answer at the dreadful day
of Judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed,
that if either of you know of any impediment why ye may not be
lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it._"
Stowell made a stifled sound as of protest. Fenella put down her
hand and took his hand and held it.
"_Victor Christian, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded
wife?_"
There was a sensible pause, and Parson Cowley leaned down to Stowell
and whispered,
"Say 'I will,' my son."
Then came a slow, half-smothered murmur,
"I .... will."
"_Fenella Charlotte de la Tremouille, wilt thou have this Man to
thy wedded husband?_"
In a clear, unfaltering voice Fenella answered,
"I will."
* * * * * * *
It was all over. The parson and the jailer and his wife were gone.
Stowell and Fenella were alone together in the prison chapel, locked
in a passionate embrace. The kitchen candles were burning out, but
the little dark place shone with glory. The air was stirred as with
the presence of angels and lit as by a celestial torch.
In their immense happiness every trouble of life seemed to be gone.
Two years? It would be like two months, two weeks, two days--it
would be like a walk in the sunshine.
"We must hold together now, dear."
"Yes, until death parts us."
Their hearts swelled with gratitude. Love had taken the sting out of
suffering--Love, the saviour, the redeemer. A great hymn of
thanksgiving was going up from body and from soul.
They talked of the future.
"Will you leave the island when your time comes, dear?"
"Indeed no, never."
Where his sin had been there also should be his expiation.
"How great! How glorious!"
She cried a little, being so happy, and he had to comfort her. Oh,
mystery of the heart of woman! They had changed places again, and
now it was she who was the weak one--or pretended to be so--just to
make him feel how strong he was, being the man, and that she would
have to look up to him all her life to guide and protect her.
"Will you love me always, Victor?"
"Always? As sure as God...."
"Hush! I know you will, dearest. But being only a woman I shall
want you to tell me so every night and every morning."
He warned her of the struggles they would have to go through yet,
even when the time came to leave that place and return to the
world--of the many who would look askance at them for his sin's sake.
But she said no, and painted for him a picture of his coming out of
prison.
What a scene it would be! His people, his beloved countrymen and
countrywomen, who were good at heart, would be at the Castle gates to
meet him. There would be thousands and tens of thousands of them to
go back with him over the hill to Ballamoar. Carriages, cars,
spring-carts, stiff-carts, fishermen in their ganzies and lifeboatmen
in their stocking caps--such a procession across the mountains as
nobody had ever seen in that island before, his little nation taking
him home.
"Oh, I see it all, Victor. When the time comes for you to go through
the Castle gates it will be like passing out of death into life, out
of the cloud of night into the glory of the sunrise."
He smiled, a melancholy smile, and shook his head.
"I have much to go through yet. You, too, Fenella."
But well she knew that the victory had been won, that the
resurrection of his soul bad already begun, that he would rise again
on that same soil on which he had so sadly fallen, that shining like
a star before his brightening eyes was the vision of a far greater
and nobler life than the one that lay in ruins behind him, and that
she, she herself, would be always by his side--to "ring the morning
bell for him."