had reasons for being of the same opinion, "they're a little behind
time, that's all."
[Illustration: It's a swindle.]
"I dunno _what_ it is they're behind," he said,--"but they don't mean
comin' out. There, what did I _tell_ you?"
One of the grooms, obeying instructions from without, had just gone to
the Indicator-post, removed the number corresponding with that of the
wedding programme, and substituted another, which was the signal for a
general uproar.
A carpet was spread for a performance by a "Bender," who made his
appearance in a tight suit of green spangles, as the "Marvellous Boy
Serpent," and endeavoured to wile away the popular discontent by
writhing in and out of the rungs of a chair, and making a glittering
pincushion of himself. In vain, for they would have none of him, and
the poor youth had to return at last amidst a storm of undeserved
hissing.
Another long wait followed, and the indignation grew louder. So
infectious is the temper of a mob that I actually caught myself
growing impatient, and banging loudly on the floor with my
umbrella--just as my neighbours were doing!
All at once, to my extreme bewilderment, the stamping and hooting
changed to tumultuous applause, the band began to bray out an air that
was apparently intended for "The Voice that Breathed," the barriers
were thrown open, and the great elephant lumbered into the arena
drawing the cage.
The brute had an enormous wedding favour attached to each side of his
tusks, and all the animals in the cage, down to the very tiger, were
wearing garlands of artificial orange-blossom, a touch of sentiment
which seemed to go straight to the hearts of the people.
But even while I looked down into the cage, with much the same
reflection as that of John Bradford of old, that there, but for
special grace, I might myself be figuring, I was astounded by the
audacity of the management.
Could they really imagine that an intelligent and enlightened audience
like this would be pacified by anything less than the spectacle they
had paid to witness--a marriage solemnised in a den of lions? And how
did they propose to perform a ceremony at which, as they must be fully
aware by this time, the bridegroom would be conspicuous by his
absence? No, it might be magnificent, but it was not business.
I was still speculating, when a kind of small procession entered the
arena. First came Mr Sawkins, with the Reverend Ninian, looking rather
like a cheap Cranmer; next was a smart-looking person in a well-cut
frock-coat and lavender trousers that I seemed to have seen before. It
was my wedding suit; the wearer had gummed on a moustache and short
side-whiskers which gave him a spurious resemblance to myself, but if
nobody else knew him, I did--it was Onion, the Lion King!
And the next moment, I received a still greater shock, as Professor
Polkinghorne followed with the lofty bearing of a Virginius, and on
his arm was a slender shrinking figure, which, in spite of the veil
she wore, I knew too well could be no other than Lurana.
"There's the bridegroom, d'ye see!" explained my hoarse neighbour;
"he's a deal better lookin' than the pictures they've drawed of him in
the papers. But he's as pale as plaster, he'll back out of it at the
last moment--you just see if he don't!"
But I knew Niono better. I remembered his open admiration of Lurana,
his envy at my good fortune, I felt convinced that his pallor was
merely due to the absence of rouge and the fear that he would not
succeed in his daring imposture. For I saw now that he had been
planning to supplant me from the first; hence his attempts to shake my
nerve, and, when they failed, hence his treacherous loan of a blunt
razor. He was staking everything on the chance that the bride's
natural agitation, and the thickness of her veil would prevent her
from suspecting that he was a fraudulent bridegroom until the ceremony
was over, while the audience, not expecting to see a Lion King in a
tall hat, would be equally deceived.
[Illustration: A kind of small procession entered the arena.]
"Pore young things!" said a stout female in front, with a nodding
feather in her bonnet; "it's to be 'oped there won't be any
unpleasantness, I'm sure. I'm 'alf sorry I came."
There was time even yet; I had but to rise, denounce the usurper, and
take my rightful place at Lurana's side. I felt strongly impelled to
do so; I actually stood up and tried to speak. But I realised that it
was hopeless to attempt to make my feeble voice heard above the
thunders of applause, even if excitement and emotion had not rendered
me speechless. Besides, what satisfactory explanation of my present
position could I offer? I sat down again with a sense of spellbound
helplessness.
I looked on as the great arc-lamps were lowered, hissing and buzzing,
to the level of the cage, and the Reverend Mr Skipworth prepared to
ascend the inverted white tub that was to serve him as a reading-desk,
and the unscrupulous Onion took the bride by the hand and conducted
her to the steps which led to the door of the lion-cage.
"They're never goin' in among all them lions without nobody with
them!" cried the stout lady. "It's downright temptin' of Providence,
that it is!"
"Don't you be afraid," said the cynical man. "_They_ ain't goin' in.
Just look at _that_ now!"
As he spoke two persons in plain clothes, who had apparently been
waiting for this moment, stepped over the barrier from the shilling
stalls into the ring, and, from their gestures, seemed to be insisting
that the wedding should not take place inside the cage at all events.
There was an animated dispute in the ring; Niono blustered, Lurana
pleaded, Sawkins expostulated, and the professor and Archibald Chuck
(who had contrived to push himself into the party) argued, while Miss
Rakestraw filled page after page of her reporter's note-book, and the
Rev. Ninian sat upon his tub with meekly folded hands, looking more
than ever like a martyr who knew himself to be incombustible.
The audience booed, and hissed, and yelled with natural rage and
disappointment; the lions remained unmoved, blinking behind their
bars, with crossed forepaws, and an air of serene indifference.
"I told yer there wasn't going to be no blooming wedding!" said my
husky friend. "It's a reg'lar put-up job, that's what it is!"
It was possible; but whether the interrupters of the proceedings were
hired supers or genuine officials, it was equally clear that there
would be no wedding inside the cage.
How bitterly I regretted that by yielding to an irresistible impulse I
had forfeited the right to stand by Lurana's side at this supreme
moment! I could have done so with absolute impunity; I should have won
a lifelong reputation for courage; Lurana herself would have owned
that I had done all that was possible to gratify her whim, and would
have consented to marry me in the orthodox fashion.
Whereas, here I was, separated from her by impassable barriers, in the
ignominious seclusion of a back seat! However, this official
prohibition had at least solved one of my difficulties; it had
rendered it unnecessary for me to interfere personally.
The storm of indignation rose to a hurricane when the entire wedding
party filed out of the arena with the officials, doubtless to discuss
the matter in greater privacy.
The stout lady with the feather was particularly annoyed. "Why
shouldn't the two young parties be allowed to please themselves?" she
wanted to know. "It was _their_ wedding, not the Government's. But it
was always the way whenever she came out for a little amusement.
Somethink was bound to go wrong."
Another long interval, during which the wildest disorder reigned
unchecked, the crowd, with the irrationality of an angry mob, actually
throwing pieces of orange-peel at the unoffending lions as the only
creatures within the range of their displeasure. The hubbub was at its
height when Sawkins reappeared and held up his hand for some time in
vain before he could obtain a hearing. Then he addressed the audience
as follows:
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "certain individuals claiming to
represent the Home Office and the London County Council" (here there
were groans, and my neighbour remarked disgustedly, that "that was
what came of returning those Progressives") "have protested against a
wedding in the cage as involving danger to the principal parties
concerned." (Loud cries of "Shame!" and general uproar.) "I have the
honour and pleasure to announce that we have succeeded in convincing
these gentlemen that the proposed ceremony is no more open to
objection than the ordinary performance, and that they have no legal
power to prohibit it. Consequently the marriage will now be celebrated
in the cage of forest-bred African lions, as advertised."
[Illustration: Then he addressed the audience.]
The revulsion of feeling after this most unexpected announcement was
instant and tremendous; all hearts seemed touched with generous
compunction for their uncharitable suspicions, and the hall rang with
tumultuous cheers.
For myself, I could not share the general exhilaration. This
preposterous wedding was permitted after all, and, unless Lurana's
heart failed her at the critical instant, she would inevitably be lost
to me for ever! I might still interpose; indeed I should have done so
at all costs, but for a timely remembrance that no action I took now
would regain her.
She might have been in ignorance before--but in the course of this
delay she must have learnt that I had failed her, she must have
accepted the lion-tamer as a substitute, and, even if I were to
present myself, she would only inform me that my place was already
filled. I had too much spirit to risk a public snub of that kind, so I
stayed where I was. It cannot have fallen to many men's lot to look on
as passive spectators at their own wedding--but what choice had I?
There was a deathlike silence as Niono slipt the bolt and gallantly
handed the bride into the cage. She stepped in as collectedly as if it
had been an ordinary Registry Office, and the great tawny beasts
retreated sullenly to the other end, where they stood huddled in a
row, while the Rev. Ninian, mounting his tub, read an abbreviated form
of service in a voice which was quite inaudible in the balcony.
I tried to turn my eyes away from the scene that was taking place in
that grim cage, and the two figures that were so calmly confronting
those formidable brutes--but I felt compelled to look. And it was
mortifying to see how trifling after all was the danger they incurred.
I am afraid I almost wished that one of the animals would give some
trouble--I don't mean of course by any actual attack--but by just
enough display of ferocity to make Lurana understand what they _might_
do.
But they never even attempted to cross the pole which had been thrust
across the cage as a barrier. I was never told there _would_ be a
pole! They looked on, mystified--as well they might be--by proceedings
to which they were totally unaccustomed, but still impressed, and
sleepily solemn. Even the tiger behaved with irreproachable decorum.
I understood then what Onion had been careful not to mention; their
food had been doctored in some way. If I had only known! _Anybody_
could beard a hocussed lion!
And soon the words which made that couple man and wife were
pronounced, or rather mumbled--for the Rev. Ninian would have been
none the worse for a course of lessons from old Polkinghorne--and the
newly-wedded pair came out of the cage without so much as a scratch,
to the triumphant blare of the "Wedding March." There was frantic
applause as the Professor embraced the bride with an emotion that
struck me as overdone, while the Rev. Ninian, Miss Rakestraw, and
Chuck, offered their congratulations and Mr Sawkins presented the
happy couple with a silver biscuit-box (it may have been
electro-plated), and a Tantalus spirit case.
But for that unfortunate slip of the razor, those gifts would have
been mine--but I was in no mood to think of that just then, when I had
lost what was so infinitely more precious.
I looked on dully till the party left the arena, declining with
excellent taste to return in answer to repeated calls and bow their
acknowledgments, and then, as the electric lights were hoisted up
again and the elephant was led in to remove the lion's cage, I thought
it was time to go.
It was all over; there was nothing to stay for now, and most of the
people were leaving, so I joined the crowd which streamed down the
staircase and along the broad passage to the main exit. Once in the
open air, I hurried blindly past the flaring shops in the High Street,
neither knowing nor caring where I was going, with only one thought
possessing my numbed brain--how different it might all have been if
only things had happened otherwise!
Wherever I looked I saw Lurana's lovely scornful face and flashing
eyes painted with torturing vividness on the murky air. How flat and
stale all existence would be for me henceforth! Life with Lurana might
not have been all sunshine; it might have had its storms, even its
tempests--but at least it would never have been dull!
I cursed the treachery which had induced her to link herself for life
with a lion-tamer. Happy, I knew she could not be, for of one thing I
was confident--she loved me; not perhaps with the passionate
single-hearted devotion I felt for her, but still with a love she
would never feel for any other. Perhaps she was already beginning to
repent her desertion of me, and wishing she could undo that rash
irrevocable act.
I was pounding up Highgate Hill, with no object beyond escaping by
active motion the demons of recollection and regret that haunted
me--when suddenly, as I gained the top of the hill, a thought struck
me. _Was_ the act irrevocable after all? Was it so absolutely certain
that this Onion had the legal right to claim her as his wife?
He had certainly personated me. Had he borrowed, not only my frock
coat, and trousers, but also my name for the ceremony? If he had, and
if Lurana was, as she could hardly help being, aware of the fact, it
did not require much acquaintance with the law to know that there was
a chance, at all events, of getting the Court to declare the marriage
null and void.
But he might have been married in his own name; I could not tell,
owing to the indistinctness of Mr Skipworth's utterance, only Lurana
or those in their immediate neighbourhood could say. I must know that
first; I must examine the register, if there was one, and then, if--if
Lurana wished to be saved, I might be able to save her.
I knew that a sort of wedding high-tea had been prepared at Canonbury
Square, where the whole party would be assembled by this time, and I
hurried back to Canonbury Square as fast as the tramcar would take me.
My blood was roused; she would not be Niono's if I could prevent it. I
would snatch her from him, even if I had to do so across the
wedding-cake!
But when I reached the well-known door and raised the familiar
knocker--a fist clutching a cast-iron wreath--in my trembling fingers,
there were no sounds of festivity within; the house was dark and
deserted.
I waited in the bitter January air; the street lamp opposite--the
identical one under which Lurana had first agreed to marry
me--flickered at every gust of the night wind, as though troubled on
my account. They must have transferred the feast to the Circus, or to
some adjacent restaurant; evidently there was no one there.
I was just turning hopelessly away, when I heard the bolt being
withdrawn, and the door was opened by a maid.
"Where is your mistress?" I asked breathlessly. I could not bring
myself to ask for Lurana as Mrs Onion.
"In the drawing-room, upstairs," was the unexpected reply, "with the
'istericks."
So long as she was not with Niono, I cared little; I bounded up, and
found her alone.
As I entered, she raised her flushed, tear-stained face from the
shabby sofa on which she had thrown herself. "Go away!" she cried,
"why do you come near me now? You have no right--do you hear?--no
right!"
"I know," I said humbly enough, "I deserve this, no doubt; and yet, if
you knew all, you would find excuses for me, Lurana!"
"None, Theodore," she said; "if you had really loved me, you would
never have deserted me!"
"I could not help myself," I retorted; "and really, Lurana, if it
comes to desertion----!"
"Ah, what is the use of wrangling about whose fault it was," she
moaned, "now, when we have both wrecked our lives! At least, I know
I've wrecked _mine_! Why was I so insane as to set my heart on our
being married in a den of disgusting lions? If you had only been
firmer, Theodore, instead of giving way as you did!"
"At least it was not cowardice," I said. "When I show you the state of
my chin----"
"Theodore!" she cried, with a little scream, "you are hurt! Tell me;
was it the tiger?"
"It was not the tiger," I said. "Never mind that now. I was betrayed
by that infernal Onion, Lurana. I never knew till it was too late--you
_do_ believe me, don't you?"
"I do; we were both deceived, Theodore. I should never have acted as I
did if that horrid Frenchwoman hadn't told me--Oh, _what_ would I not
give if all this had never been?"
"If you are truly sincere," I began, "in wishing this unlucky marriage
cancelled----"
"If I am! Are _you_, Theodore? Oh, if only there is a way!"
"There may be, Lurana. It all depends on whether my name was used at
the ceremony or not. Try to recollect and tell me."
"But I can't, Theodore. You were there--you must know!"
"Mr Skipworth wouldn't speak up; and I was much farther away than you
were."
"Than _I_ was, Theodore! But--but I wasn't there at all!"
"Not present at your own wedding?" I cried, "but I saw you!"
"It was not me!" she said, "it was Mlle. Leonie. Is it possible you
didn't know?"
My heart leaped. "For heaven's sake, explain, Lurana; let us have no
more concealments."
"When I arrived," she said, "Mademoiselle explained about the tiger,
and how sorry she was it was too late to remove it, since she
understood I had an antipathy to tigers; and I said, not at all, I
adored tigers, so she took me to see the cage, and I--I only tried to
tickle the tiger, but he was so dreadfully cross about it--I nearly
fainted. And she said it was simply madness for me to go in, and that
you were every bit as frightened as I was."
[Illustration: "If only you had been firmer, Theodore."]
"She had no right to say that," I said; "it's absolutely untrue!"
"I know, Theodore," she replied; "you have proved that you, at least,
are no coward--but I believed her then. And I wrote you a line to say
that I had altered my mind, and did not think it right to expose you
or myself to such danger, and that I would wait for you by the
Myddelton Statue. She promised to give you the letter at once!"
"I never got it," I said.
"No, she took care you should not. And I waited for you--how long I
don't know--_hours_, it seemed--but you never came! Then I saw the
people beginning to come out, and--and I went across and asked someone
whether there had been any marriage or not, and he said, 'Yes, it had
gone off without any accident, the bridegroom looked pale but was
plucky enough, and so was the bride, though he couldn't tell how _she_
looked, because of her veil.' And then of course, I knew that the
deceitful cat had taken my place and managed to make you marry her!
And at first I wanted to go back and stab her with my hat pin, but I
hadn't one sharp enough, so I came home instead. And oh, Theodore, I
_do_ feel so ashamed! After boasting so much of my Spanish blood, and
taunting you with being afraid as I did, to think that you should have
shown the truer courage after all!"
I could not triumph over her then; I was too happy. "Courage, my
darling, is a merely relative quality," I said. "Heaven forbid that we
should be held accountable for the state of our nerves--even the
bravest of us."
"But this marriage, Theodore," she said, "what can you do to have it
set aside?"
"Do! Nothing," I replied; "after what you have told me, I no longer
care to try."
"You despise me, then, because I broke down at the critical moment?"
"Not at all. I can never be grateful enough to you!"
"Grateful! Then do you mean to say you prefer that coarse,
middle-aged, lion-taming person to me, Theodore?"
"Lurana," I said, "prepare yourself for a great surprise--a _pleasant_
surprise. If anybody is now that lady's lawful husband it is
Niono--not I; and a very suitable match too," I added (I saw now why
the authorities had been compelled to waive their objections to it).
"The fact is, I never went into the cage at all."
"You didn't go into the cage, Theodore! but how, why?"
"Do you imagine," I asked, "can you really suppose I should be capable
of entering that cage with anybody but yourself, Lurana? How little
you know me! Of _course_ I declined!"
"But you didn't know I had run away _then_, Theodore! Why, you thought
only a few minutes ago _I_ was the person Mr Niono married! Perhaps
you will kindly explain?"
For the moment I was in a fix, but I saw that the moment had arrived
for perfect candour, and accordingly I told her the facts pretty much
as they have been set down here.
She could hardly blame me for having behaved precisely as she herself
had done, or refuse to admit that by taking any other course I should
have imperilled our joint happiness, and yet I thought I could see
that, with feminine unreason, she was just a _little_ disappointed
with me.
The true explanation of that marriage, if it was a marriage, in the
den of lions, I have never been able to discover, nor for that matter
have I been particularly curious to inquire whether Onion attempted to
get rid of me in order to secure Lurana; whether Mdlle. Leonie played
upon Lurana's fears with the hope of becoming my bride, or his; or
whether the Lion King and his fellow artist gallantly sacrificed
themselves to get the management out of a difficulty, I don't know,
and, as I say, I haven't cared to ask.
But however it was, they were ably seconded by old Polkinghorne, who
was naturally unwilling to be called upon to refund the money he had
got for his free tickets, and by Miss Rakestraw and Archibald Chuck,
whose reputations were also more or less concerned.
Nevertheless, although every effort was made to keep the public off
the scent, and the circus people behaved, I am bound to say, with
commendable discretion, sundry garbled versions of the facts _did_ get
about, and altogether Lurana and I have found the task of denying or
correcting them such a constant nuisance that I have felt compelled,
as I said at starting, to furnish, once for all, a statement of what
actually occurred.
Now that it is written I have no more to add, except to append a
cutting from an announcement which appeared not long ago in the
principal papers. The arrangements for its publication were entrusted
to Archibald Chuck, who I think must have added the last two words on
his own responsibility.
_Blenkinsop_--_De Castro_.--On the 15th inst., at the Parish
Church of St Mary, Islington, by the Rev. Merton Sandford,
D.D., Vicar, THEODORE PIDGLEY BLENKINSOP, of Highbury, to
LURANA CARMEN DE CASTRO, only daughter of the late Manuel
Guzman de Castro, formerly Deputy Sub-Assistant Inspector of
Spanish Liquorice to the Government Manufactory at Madrid. No
lions.
THE END.
PRINTED BY
TURNBULL AND SPEARS,
EDINBURGH
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent and archaic spelling retained.