"Lee, dear," said Renier, "you don't feel that that fellow buncoed you
into this, do you? Please say you don't."
"Of course, I wasn't buncoed," she said, and with infinite confidence.
"Why, I've seen the thing coming for months! Haven't you?"
"I've seen a certain girl begin by being very dear and grow dearer and
dearer--I wish we could _walk_ back. I'm afraid of motor-boats, fresh
water, and sudden storms on mountain lakes. And I hereby highly resolve
that after this perilous trip I shall never again do anything dangerous,
such as watching people going up in aeroplanes, such as sitting around
with wet feet, such as eating green fruit, such as-- Oh, my own darling
little kiddie," he whispered with sudden trembling emotion, "but this
life is precious."
"George and Charley are looking at us," said Lee, "with funny looks. I
wonder if they are _on_? I wonder if everybody will be _on_--just by
looking at us. _Do_ I look foolish?"
"You do not, but I think you are foolish to take a feller like me, and
that's why I'm going to dance down this gang-plank and snap my fingers
and shock George and Charley out of their senses."
During this first part of the _Streak_'s swift rush from Carrytown to
The Camp a tranquil silence came over them. Lee, I think, was searching
her heart with questions. But she had no doubt of her love for Renier;
she doubted only her capacity to be to him exactly the wife he needed.
And I know that Renier just sat, brazening the critical glances of
George and Charley, and adored her with his eyes.
And what were his thoughts? Would you give a penny for them? He leaned
closer to her, and in a whisper that thrilled them both to the bone, he
quoted from Poe:
"And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
And a little later he said:
"I never knew till to-day what poetry is for. I thought people who wrote
it were just a little simple and that people who read and quoted it were
perfect jackasses."
"And what is poetry for?" asked Lee, smiling.
"Poetry," he said, "is for _you_."
As they neared the camp the sentiment in their hearts yielded a little
to excitement.
"When we tell 'em," said Lee, "it's going to be just like a bomb going
off. And everybody will be terribly envious."
"Nobody even loves us," laughed Renier, and he quoted:
"Among ten million, one was she,
And surely all men hated me."
And like a flash Lee answered:
"Among ten million he was one,
So all the ladies fought like fun."
"One thing is sure," sand Renier, "we've more than executed Brother
Arthur's delicate and confidential commission. What we don't know about
getting married in the State of New York simply doesn't exist."
Arthur, eager and impatient, was like a more famous person, watching and
waiting.
"Well," he said, "thank you a thousand times. And what did you find
out?"
"We've brought you a license blank," said Lee; "you simply fill it out
with your names and ages and things--like this--" And she placed a
second paper in her brother's hands.
And conspicuous on the paper he saw Lee's name and Renier's. His hands
shook a little, and his face became very grave and tender.
"Say you're surprised!" exclaimed Lee; "say you were never so surprised
in all your born days!"
"But I'm not surprised," said Arthur. "Come here to me!" He opened his
arms to her and she flung herself into them. Over her shoulder and
hiding head Arthur spoke to Renier.
"No man," he said, "knows his own heart, and no woman knows hers. Nobody
can promise with honesty to love forever. For sometimes love dies just
as simply and inexplicably as it is born. But a man can promise to be
good to his wife always, and tender with her and faithful to her, and if
he is a gentleman he will make those promises good."
"I make those promises," said Renier simply; "will you give her to me?"
"It is for no man to give or to withhold," said Arthur. "The gods give.
The duty of brothers is just to try to help things along and to love
their sisters and to be friends with their brothers-in-law."