_HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF_
Hugh lost no time on the way back to the hotel. The lazy driver awoke
his lazy horse and, to the intense amazement of both, the vehicle held
together during the return trip. At least a dozen rattling bumps over
rough places in the street caused the driver to glance apprehensively
over his shoulder in the unusual fear that his fare and the cab had
parted company. For the first time in ten years he was sufficiently
interested to be surprised. It astonished him to find that the vehicle
stuck together as a whole.
On the way back, Hugh suddenly bethought himself of his financial
condition. He was attired in a suit of clothes belonging to Mr.
Carruthers and the garments fitted him well. In one of the pockets
rested his small leather purse. When he plunged into the sea on that
memorable night a year ago it contained a half dozen small American
coins and some English money, amounting in all to eleven dollars and
thirty cents. Carefully he had treasured this wealth on the island and
he had come away with the principal untouched. Now, as he jogged along
in the cab, he emptied the contents of the purse upon the seat.
"Eleven thirty," he mused. "A splendid dowry. Not enough to buy the
ring. No flowers, no wine--nothing but pins. My letter of credit is at
the bottom of the sea. Borrowed clothes on my back and home-made clothes
on hers. I have a watch, a knife, and a scarf pin. She has diamond rings
and rubies, but she has no hat. By Jove, it looks as though I'll have to
borrow money of Veath, after all."
Lady Tennys was in her room, strangely calm and resigned. She was
wondering whether he would ever come back to her, whether she was ever
to see him again. Her tired, hopeless brain was beginning to look
forward to the dismal future, the return to England, the desolate life
in the society she now despised, the endless regret of losing that which
she had never hoped to possess--a man's love in exchange for her own.
She kept to her room, avoiding the curious stare of people, denying
herself to the reporters and correspondents, craving only the loneliness
that made the hour dark for her. It seemed to her that she had lived a
lifetime since he went forth to find the girl who had waited so long
for him.
Then came the rush of footsteps in the hall. They were not those of the
slow-moving servants, they were not--a vigorous thumping on the door was
followed by the cry of a strong, manly, vigorous voice. Her head swam,
her heart stood still, her lips grew white and she could utter no sound
in response.
He was coming at last to commit her to everlasting misery.
The door flew open and Ridgeway bounded into the room. Before she could
move, he rushed over and drew her limp form from the chair, up into his
strong embrace. She heard a voice, tender and gladsome, as from afar
off, singing into her ear.
"Look up, darling! This is to be our wedding day--yours and mine! You
are mine--mine!"
The glad light slowly struggled back into her eyes, but it was as if she
had come from a death-like swoon. He poured into her dull ears the story
of the visit to Grace Vernon, but he was compelled to repeat it. Her
ears were unbelieving.
"Grace is coming here with Henry Veath," he said in the end. "By Jove, I
am happy!"
She held his face close to hers and looked deep into his eyes for a
long, long time.
"Are you sure?" she whispered at last. "Is it all true?"
"They'll be here in half an hour; but I haven't told them it was you
they are going to see. She loves Veath--loves him more than she ever
cared for me. I don't blame her, do you? Veath's a man--worthy of any
woman's love and confidence. Tennys, do you know what I've been thinking
ever since I left them fifteen minutes ago? I've been calling myself a
cad--a downright cad."
"And why, may I ask?"
"Because Veath isn't one--that's all."
"But you are a man--a true, noble, enduring one. The year just gone has
changed you from the easy, thoughtless boy into the strong man that you
are, just as it has made of me a woman."
"I am no longer the harlequin?" he interposed eagerly.
"The harlequin's errand is accomplished, dear. The spangles and glitter
are gone. Pure gold has come in their stead. It won't wear out. God has
worked out this end for all of us. In His own good time He rectifies our
errors and points the new way."
"I am but a year older than when I began."
"It isn't time that makes the man."
"It's opportunity, after all. I wasn't a man when I dragged Grace Vernon
away from home; I was a fool--a callow boy in--"
"That was a year ago, Hugh, dear. What was I two years ago?"
"A rich man's wife. I was a rich man's son."
"You were the rich man's son by chance. I was a rich man's wife from
choice."
"History repeats itself with variations, dearest. Although I have but
eleven dollars and thirty cents in my purse, I have a million at home.
You don't mind, do you?"
"I suppose it was foreordained that I should always marry from choice,"
she said with her most entrancing smile.