THE HAPPY PAIR.
The combined news that Sarkies was expelled from the fold and that
their pastor was, almost at once, to marry the pretty widow, became
the property of the congregation the day after the meeting. In family
conclaves Sarkies was regarded as doomed to eternal perdition, and
heads were gravely shaken over Galbraith's choice. Still, he commanded
their respect, and his influence was strong--so strong that Elder
Bullin found he was unable to get supporters to move a resolution
condemning the pastor's choice, and calling upon him to give up the
care of his flock. Mr. Bullin urged that this was vitally necessary
for the well-being of the community, but the severity of his action
against Sarkies frightened some, Mr. Bunny's influence prevailed over
others, and the general liking for Galbraith was so great that his
flock began in a few days to extend a portion of their regard for him
to his intended wife. The elder therefore failed, but his voice did
not remain unheard both in public and in private. This, however,
unconsciously helped to assist Galbraith's cause, as the elder was
more feared than loved, and the people he was dealing with wanted real
courage of purpose. Even if their objections had taken head, the
agitation would have been confined to private whisperings and perhaps
a solemnly worded letter to the Bombay Bouncer.
At length the day came for the marriage, and the ceremony was
performed in the tabernacle by the pastor of another congregation, an
out-station resident, who came in specially for the purpose. The elder
refused to attend, and forbade his daughters going; but this was a
sight not to be missed, and both Lizzie and Laura were there. It is
some consolation to know that their father did not discover this. With
the exception of Mr. Bullin, however, every member of the congregation
was present. Even Mr. Sarkies waited patiently at the chapel entrance,
and as he stood he saw a neatly-dressed man step out of a hired buggy
and pass into the church. When the bride came Sarkies slipped into the
church unobserved and witnessed the whole ceremony. He was able also
to recognise in the neatly-dressed man the affable stranger of the
Divan Exchange. The bride, however, claimed his attention, and his
friend was forgotten as he looked at her. Very pretty looked Halsa in
her dark-gray dress, with hat to match, and when the words were spoken
which made her John Galbraith's wife, the whole party adjourned to Mr.
Bunny's, all but Sarkies the outcast and the neat-looking stranger,
who passed him unobserved, and, getting into his buggy, drove away
rapidly. At Mr. Bunny's all was very gay. As a special occasion
glasses of ginger wine were served round with the cake, and the
bride's health drunk amid much applause. With hearts warmed by the
cordial, these emotional people felt that Halsa Galbraith was now one
of them, and they one and all shook hands with her heartily. As the
time approached for the happy couple to depart on their short
honeymoon, order was called, and the guests, having arranged
themselves soberly, listened to an exhortation from the Rev. Samuel
Boase, the clergyman who officiated at the marriage. The worthy man
discoursed at some length on the holiness of the institution, and it
was only the sound of carriage wheels, as they grated away from the
portico, that aroused him to the fact that the newly-wedded pair had
slipped away unobserved. Hastily concluding his speech, the reverend
gentleman included his amen in a rush for the bag of rice, and,
seizing a handful, attempted to pursue the carriage, followed by all
the guests. They were too late, however, and all came in hot,
breathless, and a little disappointed. Eddy Bunny alone was satisfied.
Armed with an old shoe, he had concealed himself in the shrubbery, and
as the carriage drove by he aimed this at Galbraith with a precision
acquired by long practice with the catapult. It was some little time
before the victim recovered from the shock, and when he did the
carriage was well on its way toward the railway station.
The honeymoon lasted barely a fortnight, for two reasons, one being
that the Rev. Samuel Boase was unable to take Galbraith's work for
more than that period, and the other the important factor of expense.
Back they came, then, from a short trip to the hills near Bombay. It
was the first real holiday Galbraith had ever enjoyed. The long day's
dream under the trees, the gathering of ferns in some secluded glen,
the rest, and, above all, the dear companionship he had, combined to
make it very sweet. Galbraith told his wife of the mental struggle he
was perpetually undergoing, and received much help from her clear
common sense and healthful sympathy. She in her turn gave him no
half-confidence, but told him honestly the story of her life. She
touched as lightly as possible on her former husband's ill-treatment
of her, on his cruelty and neglect, for the man was dead. She told him
how, two years back, the Mahi sailed from Cochin for the Mauritius,
and from that time was heard of no more, until a solitary survivor
came back with a dreadful tale of the sea. He told how the ship had
been scuttled, how all the boats were rendered useless except one,
into which the captain and two others escaped. Clinging to a spar
himself, he had seen a great green wave swamp the boat, and then for
him came three days of hideous agony, and at last rescue. Of the death
of her husband no doubt ever crossed Halsa's mind. She had seen the
newspaper reports of the inquiry into the disaster, and had
interviewed the rescued man. She opened a school at Cochin, and was
enabled to keep her head above water with this, and with the proceeds
of flower-painting, in which she had some proficiency. Then came a
fortunate legacy of some four hundred pounds, and she consulted Mr.
Bunny, a cousin of her husband, on business matters connected with
this. The Bunnys had repeatedly asked her before to make her home with
them, and they renewed this invitation now in so kind a manner that
Halsa accepted. It was an invitation to stay until she could obtain
some suitable employment; but a year passed--"And you found the
employment," said Galbraith; "you have to take care of me now." And
Halsa smiled at him from under her dark eye-lashes in reply.
Back they came, then, and even Elder Bullin was there to receive them.
"Let bygones be bygones, elder," said the pastor, as he shook the
stiff fingers the old man held out. Bullin mumbled something which no
one heard, but all believed that a reconciliation had taken place.
Halsa entered heartily into her husband's work. She discarded the high
straw hats, the red ribbons, and fluttering white raiment, and the
only trace of her former somewhat coquettish taste in dress was now in
the exceeding neatness of her sober-coloured garments. She was quick
and clever at figures, and Galbraith willingly relinquished to her the
charge of keeping the accounts of the tabernacle funds. She wore the
key of the cash-box in a chain suspended round her neck; and at the
monthly audit Elder Bullin confessed that never had the cash-book been
so neat or so well kept.
"I do believe the old man is getting fond of me," said Halsa, as she
stood by her husband and watched the elder as he slowly walked up the
garden toward the gate, his big umbrella spread over him. And
Galbraith, being in love, did what was expected of him.
Now all this time a nameless horror was approaching nearer and nearer.