If time permitted, it would be pleasant to tell of the merry wedding,
and of the delicately mocking charm with which Diantha held her lover
at arm's length, all that long, happy day. She was as winsome as a
sprite, and as elusive. She had a thousand excuses to leave him to his
own devices, after they had returned from the early morning wedding in
the Endowment House. She must see to the dinner, for they were all at
Aunt Clara's, who had insisted on getting the wedding dinner. So John
folded his arms, after she had slipped from them at last, and quietly
sat down by the window to read his book. She might go, she could never
get away from him now, he reflected with a thrill of delight, and he
could well afford to wait for her sure return.
Dian peeped in occasionally to see if he was all right, for the company
would be there soon, she said, and she was very anxious to see if his
collar and necktie were perfectly straight. She came in, as she found
that he did not seem to notice her, and playfully ordered him to arise
and let her see if he was in perfect trim. He arose at her bidding,
and stood looking quizzically down upon her, as she took a number of
unnecessary minutes to arrange the already faultless collar and tie
under the long beard. His eyes burned down into her uplifted, mocking
blue orbs, but he said nothing, nor did he offer to touch her.
"I am very glad, Mr. John, that you have learned to keep your arms from
around me, for at least this afternoon, for you will have to learn, you
great, big, awkward John, that muslin dresses are not to be shaken, nor
are they to be taken in such careless hands as these," and she held his
unresisting hand a moment, then deftly put it about her waist.
He stooped down, and kissed her gravely upon the tender, red mouth, as
if he found it impossible to resist his own forever.
Then she drew back, and with a sudden assumption of dignity she said,
"Don't you know that it is very rude to kiss a lady, unless you have
properly courted her, and she has promised to marry you?"
He laughed out of his eyes at her, and fell to stroking his long beard
in the way she remembered so well.
"Now, I am going to stay right here, Mr. John, to punish you for not
seeming glad to see me just now."
She sat down for a moment, but as John made as if to take her in his
arms she sprang up, and with a sudden elusive gesture, she put out her
pretty toe from the front of her dress, and made him a deep curtsy,
saying mockingly:
"The lady must away to spread the feast of--well, not reason--but beef
and chickens, and to thus assist the flow of--well, not soul, but small
talk. Adieu," and she swept him another low bow, and tripped to the
door, where she paused a moment, and turning back she tossed him a
pretty kiss from the pink tips of her dainty fingers, as she laughed:
"None but the brave deserve the fair," and was gone.
They had refused to have a dancing party, for both had still a deep,
painful remembrance of the friend they had both loved and lost, and
nothing but a simple gathering of the immediate family would they
invite. As they left Aunt Clara's door that night after every guest had
departed, Aunt Clara put her hands on their two shoulders, and with
a silent tear in her eyes, she bade them, "Be true to God and each
other," and they were alone at last with their wedded love and its
pure, exquisite, heaven-ordained bliss.
Dian walked very primly down the midnight streets with her young
husband, refusing to allow him to attempt to put his arm about her
waist.
"You know it is exceedingly bad taste for people to show any affection
in public; and even if you were to offer as an excuse that it is very
late and no one is about, you remember that as children we have learned
that we must do what is right whether there is any one to look at us or
not. Eh?"
John assented, allowing her to place the merest finger tip on his arm,
and he walked gravely down the moonlit streets between Aunt Clara's
house and their own dear little home, which they were about to enter
for the first time together.
Dian chatted and laughed nervously, asking and answering all sorts of
questions, sometimes putting into John's mouth words he never would
have uttered, for she said if he would not talk for himself she must do
the talking for both. Presently they reached their own lowly gate; and
he gravely held open the little wicket, for her to pass through. She
stood with beating heart and quiet lips upon the small porch, while he
unlocked the newly painted front door. And then she stood just inside
the door, still silent, while John found and lighted the two candles on
the mantle.
Then with a quizzical look in the keen loving eyes, he said, softly:
"Sister Stevens, will you come in and take possession of your home?"
It was the first time she had ever heard herself so called, and she
felt overpowered by all the blessed happiness the name implied. She
stood a moment, and then put up her hands to cover the tears which
would fill and overflow her eyes. The big fellow beside her waited a
moment also, as if to make sure of the source of all these tears, and
then he put his hand gently upon her shoulder and whispered, "You are
not sorry, dear?"
"Oh, John," she sobbed, throwing her arms close about his neck, "I'm so
happy that I must cry. Don't mind, it is only that I am so grateful to
God for you and your dear love. To think, John, that I am yours, your
true wife, for time and for all eternity," and she sighed with a happy,
half-sobbing sigh, as she ceased her crying, and drew his face down to
her own that she might kiss him on the lips, she said, to begin her
married life aright, giving him always, first and last, her best loving
devotion.
Then Dian opened the lid of her little organ, and played an evening
hymn, while John watched her shining eyes and tender mouth as she
offered up for them both a hymnal of praise in their new home. After
the last note they both bowed in solemn prayer before the Throne of
Grace!