A HARMONY IN GRAY
As the trio entered the room Judy jumped from the sofa vivaciously.
The Sheriff followed with an agility wonderful in a man of his age; he
bade them all welcome with a compelling heartiness. Judy was full of
animation; indeed she out-did herself to a degree which made Joy raise
her eyebrows. Joy was a sympathetic soul, and unconsciously adapted
herself to her Aunt’s supra-vivacity.
To Colonel Ogilvie, less enthusiastic by nature and concern, it
appeared that she was as he put it in his own mind “playing up to the
old girl.” He seemed to realise that the Sheriff was ardent in his
intentions; and, with the calm, business-like aptitude of a
brother-in-law to a not-young lady, had already made up his mind to
give his consent.
Judy flew to Joy and kissed her fervently. The kisses were returned
with equal warmth, and the two women rocked in each other’s arms, to
the envy, if delight, of certain of the onlookers viewing the
circumstance from different standpoints. Judy took her niece to the
now-vacated sofa, and an animated whispering began between them. Joy’s
attention was, however, distracted; her senses had different
objectives. Her touch was to Judy sitting beside her and holding her
close in a loving embrace; her ears were to her father who was talking
to the Sheriff. But her eyes were all with her husband, devouring him.
There came a timid knock at the door, and in answer to the Sheriff’s
“Come in,” it was partly opened. The voice of the landlady was heard:
“May I speak with ye a moment, Sheriff?” He went over to the door, and
a whispered colloquy ensued, all his guests turning their eyes away
and endeavouring in that way, as usual, to seem not to be listening.
Then the Sheriff, having closed the door, said:
“Our good hostess tells me that there will be a full half hour of
waiting before we can breakfast, if she is to have proper time to do
justice to the food which she wishes to place before us. So I must ask
pardon of you all.”
“Capital! Capital!” said Colonel Ogilvie, “that half hour is just what
we want. Mr. Sheriff, we have a little ceremony to go through before
we breakfast. The fact is we are going to have an Irregular Marriage.
If you are able to take part in such a thing I hope you will assist
us.” Joy rose up and stood beside Athlyne. The Sheriff answered:
“Be quite easy on that point, sir. I am not in my own shrieval
district, and so, even if such were contra to my duties at home, I am
free to act as an individual elsewhere. But who are the contracting
parties? You are married already; so too are your daughter and my Lord
Athlyne. Indeed it looks, Miss Hayes, as if you and I are the only
available parties left. But I fear such great happiness is not for me;
though I would give anything in the wide world to win it!” He bowed to
her gallantly and took her hand. She looked quite embarrassed--though
not distressed, and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Indeed, Mr. Sheriff!” she said, “this is very sudden. Affairs of the
heart seem to move quickly in this delightful country!” As she spoke
she looked at Joy and Athlyne who happened to be at the moment
standing hand in hand. Joy came over and sat beside her and kissed
her. Athlyne, in obedience to a look from his wife, kissed her too.
Then the Colonel gallantly followed suit. There was only the Sheriff
left, and he, after a pause, took advantage of the occasion and kissed
her also. Then to relieve her manifest embarrassment he spoke out:
“I fear I have diverted your purpose, Colonel Ogilvie. I am not sorry
for it”--this with a look at Judy which made her blush afresh “but I
apologize. I take it that you were alluding to something in which I am
to have a less prominent part than I have suggested.”
“The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and my daughter.” As
he spoke Athlyne went to a side table whereon were spread the
Sheriff’s writing materials. He took a sheet of paper and began to
write. Colonel Ogilvie went on:
“We have come to the conclusion that, though the act of marriage which
has already taken place between these two young people is in your view
lawful and complete, it may be well to go through the ceremony in a
more formal manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls
in law; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my lord that it
would be well not to allow any loophole for after attack. Therefore in
your presence--if you will be so good,” the Sheriff bowed, “they shall
again pledge their mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the
paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing; and we
shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new marriage is
complete--and irrefragable as I understand from what you said awhile
ago it will be--we shall be ready for breakfast. It will be more than
perhaps you expected when you so kindly asked us to be your guests: a
wedding breakfast!”
Judy whispered to her niece.
“Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you properly. I have
brought a dress with me.”
“What dress dear?” she asked.
“The tweed tailor-made.”
“But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is more suitable
for my wedding.”
“That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you shall not wear
white. You are already a married lady; this is only a re-marriage.” A
beautiful blush swept over Joy’s face as she looked at her husband
writing away as hard as his pen could move.
“I shall wear white to-day!” she said in the same whisper, and stood
up.
Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. It stopped at
the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle of arrival. Voices
raised to a high pitch were heard outside. Various comments were heard
in the room.
“That’s mother!”
“My wife!”
“Sally!”
“Why Aunt Judy that’s the voice of Mrs. O’Brien!”
“My Foster-mother!”
The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew first to her
husband’s arms; and then, after a quick embrace, seemed to close round
Joy and obliterate her. A similar eclipse took place with regard to
Athlyne; for Mrs. O’Brien dashed into the room and calling out as
though invoking the powers of earth and heaven: “Me bhoy! me bhoy!”
fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, and yielded himself
to her embrace as freely as though he had been a child again.
“Joy dear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie “I hope you are all right. After your
father and then Judy had gone, I was so anxious about you, that I got
the north mail stopped and caught it at Penrith. Just as I was going
to get ready for the journey Mrs. O’Brien came in. She had written to
me in London that she would like to pay her respects, and I had said
we were going on to Ambleside but would be glad if she would come and
see us there and spend a few days with us.” Mrs. O’Brien who was all
ears, here cut into the conversation:
“Aye, an Miss Joy acushla,--my service to ye miss!--she sent me postal
ordhers to cover me railway fare an me expinces. Oh! the kind heart iv
her!”
She had by now released Athlyne and stood back from him pointing at
him as she spoke:
“An comin’ here through yer ladyship’s goodness who do I find but me
beautiful bhoy. Luk at him! Luk at him! Luk at him!” Her voice rose in
crescendo at each repetition. “The finest, dearest, sweetest, bonniest
child that ever a woman tuk to her breast. An now luk at him well. The
finest, up-standinest, handsomest, dearest, lovinest man that the
whole wurrld houlds. That doesn’t forget his ould fosther mother an
him an Earrll, wid castles iv his own, an medals on to him an Victory
Crasses. An it’s a gineral he ought to be. Luk at him, God bless him!”
She turned to one after another of the party in turn as though
inviting their admiration. Joy came and, putting her arms round the
old woman’s neck, hugged and kissed her. When she got free, Mrs.
O’Brien said to Athlyne:
“An phwat are ye doin’ here me darlin’ acushla me lord--av I may make
so bould as t’ ask ye? How did ye come here; and phwat brung ye that
yer ould nurse might have her eyes made glad wid sight iv ye?”
“I am here, my dear, because I am married to Joy Ogilvie, and we are
going to be married again!”
Then the storm of comment broke, all the women speaking at once and in
high voices suitable to a momentous occasion:
“What, what?” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “Married to my daughter! Colonel
Ogilvie, how is it that I was not informed of this coming event?”
“Faith, my dear I don’t know” he answered “I never knew it--and--and I
believe they didn’t know it themselves … till the moment before it
was done.” He added the last part of the sentence in deference to the
Sheriff’s direction as to ‘intention.’ Fortunately the Sheriff had not
heard his remark.
“Do explain yourself, Lucius. I am all anxiety.”
“My dear, yesterday Joy made an irregular marriage with Lord Athlyne!”
“Good God!” The exclamation gave an indication of the social value of
“irregular” marriage to persons unacquainted with Scottish law. Her
husband saw that she was pained and tried to reassure her:
“You need not distress yourself, my dear. It is all right. ‘Irregular’
is only a name for a particular form of marriage in this Country. It
is equally legal with any other marriage.”
“But who is Lord Athlyne, and where is he? That is the name of the man
who Mrs. O’Brien told Joy was the only man good enough for her.”
“Lord Athlyne” said Colonel Ogilvie “at present our son-in-law, is
none other than Mr. Richard Hardy with whom you shook hands just now!”
“Lucius, I am all amazed! There seems to be a sort of network of
mystery all round us. But one thing: if Joy was married yesterday how
on earth can she be going to be married to-day?”
“To avoid the possibility of legal complications later on! It is all
right, my dear. You may take it from me that there is no cause for
concern! But there were certain things, usually attended to
beforehand, which on this occasion--owing to ignorance and hurry and
unpremeditation--were not attended to. In order to prevent the
possibility of anything going wrong by any quibble, they are to be
married again just now.”
“Where? when?”
“Here, in this room!”
“But where’s the clergyman; where is the license?”
“There is neither. This is a Scottish marriage! Later on we can have a
regular church marriage with a bishop if you wish or an archbishop; in
a church or a room or a Cathedral--just as you prefer.” Mrs. Ogilvie
perceptibly stiffened as he spoke. Then she said, with what she
thought was dignified gravity, which seemed to others like frigid
acidity:
“Do I understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that you are a consenting party to
another ‘irregular’”--she quivered as she said the word--“marriage?
And that my daughter is to be made a laughing stock amongst all our
acquaintances by _three_ different marriages?”
“That is so, my dear. It is for Joy’s good!”
“Her good? Fiddlesticks! But in that case I have nothing more to say!”
Some of her wrath seemed to be turned on both Athlyne and Joy; for she
did not say a single word to either of them. She simply relapsed into
stony silence.
Mrs. O’Brien’s reception of the news afforded what might be termed the
“comic relief” of the strained situation. She raised her hands, as
though in protest to heaven for allowing such a thing, and emitted a
loud wail such as a “keener” raises at an Irish wake. Then she burst
into voluble speech:
“Oh wirrasthrue me darlin’ bhoy, is it a haythen Turk y’ are becomin’,
to take another wife whin ye’ve got one already only a day ould. An
such a wan more betoken--the beautifullest darlinest young cratur what
iver I seen! Her that I picked out long ago as the only wan that ye
was good enough for. Shure, couldn’t ye rist content wid Miss Joy, me
darlin’? It’s lookin’ forward I was to nursin’ her childher, as I
nursed yerself me lord darlin’, her childher, an yours! An’ now it’s
another woman steppin’ in betune ye; an’ maybe there’ll be no childher
at all, at all. Wirrasthrue!”
“But look here, Nanny,” said Athlyne with some impatience. “Can’t you
see that you’re all wrong. It is to Joy that I am going to marry
again! There’s no other woman coming in between us. ’Tis only the dear
girl herself!”
“Ah, that’s all very well, me lord darlin’; but which iv them is to be
the mother? Faix but I’ll go an ax her Ladyship this minit!” And go
she did, to Athlyne’s consternation and Joy’s embarrassment. All in a
hurry she started up and went over to the sofa where Joy sat, and with
a bob curtesy said to her:
“Me lady, mayn’t I have the nursin’ av yer childher, the way I had
their father before them? Though, be the same token, it’s not the same
nursin’ I can give thim, wid me bein’ ould an’ rhun dhry!” Joy felt
that the only thing to do was to postpone the difficulty to a more
convenient season, when there should not be so many eyes--some of them
strange ones--on her. To do this as kindly and as brightly as she
could, she said:
“But dear Mrs. O’Brien, isn’t it a little soon to think--or at any
rate to speak--of such things?”
“Wasn’t ye married yisterday?” interrupted the old woman. But looking
at her lady’s cheeks she went on in a different tone:
“But me darlin’--Lady, it’s over bould an’ too contagious for me to
mintion such things, as yit. But I’ll take, if I may, a more
saysonable opportunity to ask ye to patthernise me. Some time whin
ye’re more established as a wife thin ye are now!”
“Indeed” said Joy kindly. “I shall only be too happy to have you near
me. And if I--if we are ever blessed with a little son I hope you will
try to teach him to be as like his----” she stopped, blushing, but
after a short pause went on “as like my dear husband as ever you can!”
There was a break in her voice which moved the old woman strongly. She
lifted the slim fine young hand to her withered lips and kissed it
fervently.
“Glory be to God! me Lady, but it’s the proud woman I’ll be to keep
and guard the young Earrll. An’ I’ll give my life for him if needs
be!”
“Come now!” said the Sheriff who had been speaking with Colonel
Ogilvie and Athlyne, and who had read over the paper written by the
latter. “Come now all you good people! All sit round the room except
you two principals to this solemn contract. You two stand before me
and read over the paper. You, my Lord, read it first; and then you
too, my Lady, do the same!” They sat round as they wished. Joy and
Athlyne stood up before the Sheriff, who was also standing.
Instinctively they took hands, and Athlyne holding the paper in his
left hand, read as follows:
“We Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Mowbray Hardy Fitzgerald, Earl of
Athlyne, Viscount Roscommon and Baron Ceann-da-Shail and Joy
Fitzgerald or Ogilvie late of Airlville in the State of Kentucky,
United States of America, agree that we shall be and are united in the
solemn bonds of matrimony according to the Law of Scotland and that we
being of one mind as to the marriage, are and hereby declare ourselves
man and wife.
_Witness of above_
We the undersigned hereby declare that we have in the presence of the
above signatories and of each other seen the foregoing signatures
appended to this deed by the signatories themselves in our presence
and in the presence of each other.
Alexander Fenwick (Sheriff of Galloway).
Lucius Ogilvie (father of the bride).
Mary Hayes Ogilvie (mother of the bride).
Bedelia Ann O’Brien, widow (formerly nurse and foster mother to the
bridegroom).
Judith Hayes (aunt of the bride).”
When the document was completed by the signatures the Sheriff, having
first scanned it carefully, offered it to Colonel Ogilvie, who raising
a protesting hand said:
“No, no, Mr. Sheriff! I think we should all prefer that it should be
kept in your custody, if you will so oblige us.”
“With the greatest pleasure” he said; and Athlyne and Joy having
consented to the scheme he folded the document and put it into his
pocket. Just then the landlady, having knocked and being bidden to
enter, came into the room followed by several maids and men bearing
dishes.
“And now to breakfast” he went on. “Will the Bride kindly sit on my
right hand, with her Husband next her. Mrs. Ogilvie, will you honour
me by sitting on my left, with Colonel Ogilvie to support you on the
other side. Miss Hayes will you kindly sit on Lord Athlyne’s right.”
“And Mrs. … Mrs. O’Brien,” whispered Judy. He went on:
“Mrs. O’Brien will you sit on Colonel Ogilvie’s left.”
“’Deed an’ I’ll not!” said the Irishwoman sturdily.
“Do you mean” asked Colonel Ogilvie icily “that you do not care to sit
next to me individually?”
“Faix an’ I don’t mane anything so foolish yer ’ann’r. Why should the
likes o’ me dar to object to the likes iv you? All I mane, sorr, is
that an ould Biddy like me isn’t fit to sit down alongside the
quality--let alone an Earrll and his Laady whose unborn childher I’m
to nurse. An’, more betoken, on such an owdacious occasion--shure an I
don’t mane that but such a suspicious occasion.”
“Mrs. O’Brien ma’am” said the Sheriff taking her hand “you’re going, I
hope to take your place at the table that all these good friends wish
you to take.”
“In troth no yer”--whispering to Joy “what’s a Sheriff called Miss
Joy? Is he ‘yer Majesty’ or ‘me lord’ or ‘yer ann’r’ or what is he
anyhow?” “I think he is ‘yer honour’” said Joy. So Mrs. O’Brien
continued: “Yer Ann’r. Don’t ask me fur to sit down wid the quality
where I don’t belong. But let me give a hand to these nice girrls and
byes to shling the hash. Shure it’s a stewardess I am, an accustomed
to shovin’ the food.”
“Nanny” said Athlyne kindly but in a strong voice “we all want you to
sit at table with us to-day. And I hope you won’t refuse us that
pleasure.”
“Certainly me darlin’ lord!” she said instantly. “In coorse what
plases ye!” The Master had spoken; she was content to obey without
question. In the meantime Joy had been whispering to her mother who
now spoke out:
“Mr. Sheriff, will you allow me to make a suggestion about the places
at table?”
“With a thousand delights, madam. Pray make whatever disposition you
think best. I am only too grateful for your help.”
“Thank you, sir. Well, if you do not mind I should like my sister,
Miss Hayes, placed next to you; then Colonel Ogilvie and myself. On
the other side if you will place next to my son-in-law his old nurse,
I am right sure that both will be pleased.”
“Hear, hear!” said Athlyne. “Come along, Nanny, and sit next your boy!
Joy and I shall be delighted to have you close to us. Won’t you,
darling.” Joy’s answer was quite satisfactory to him:
“Of course … Darling!” It was wonderful what a world of love she put
into the utterance of those two syllables.
The breakfast was a great success, though but few of the party ate
heartily. Neither Athlyne nor Joy did justice to the provender. They
whispered a good deal and held hands surreptitiously under the table,
and their eyes met constantly. The same want of appetite seemed to
have affected both the Sheriff and Judy; but silence and a certain
restraint and primness were their characteristics. Mrs. O’Brien,
seated on the very edge of her chair, was too proud and too happy to
eat. But she was storing up for future enjoyment fond memories of
every incident, however trivial.
It was mid-day before any move was made. There were no speeches--in
public, as all considered it would break the charm that was over the
occasion if anything so overt took place. When all is understood,
speech becomes almost banal. But there were lots of whisperings;
whispers as soft in their tone as their matter was sweet. No one
appeared to notice any one else at such moments; though be sure that
there were words and tones and looks that were remembered later by the
receivers, and looks and movements that were remembered by the others.
Judy and the Sheriff had much to say to each other. Ample opportunity
was given from the fact that the newly married pair found themselves
occupied with each other almost exclusively. Occasionally, of course,
Joy and the Sheriff conversed; but as a working rule he was quite
content to devote himself to Judy who seemed quite able to hold up her
end of the serious flirtation. When finally the party broke up,
preparatory to setting out for the south, the Sheriff asked Colonel
Ogilvie if it might be possible that he should join in travel with the
party, as he wished to spend a few days in Ambleside--a place which he
had not visited for many years. Colonel Ogilvie cordially acquiesced.
He was pretty sure by now that the meeting of Judy and this new friend
would end in a match, and he was glad to do anything which might
result in the happiness of his sister-in-law of whom he was really
fond. But it was not on this account only that he made him welcome.
The reaction from his evil temper was on him. Conscience was awake and
pricking into him the fact that he had behaved brutally. His mind did
not yet agree in the justice of the verdict; but that would doubtless
come later. He now wished to show to all that there was quite another
side of his character. In this view he pressed that the Sheriff should
be his guest. The other was about to object when he realised that by
accepting he would be one of the household, and so much closer to
Judy, and more and oftener in her society than would otherwise be
possible. So he accepted gladly, and he and the Colonel soon became
inseparable--except when Judy was speaking! In such case Colonel
Ogilvie often felt himself rather left out in the cold. At the
beginning of breakfast Athlyne had learned from Joy of the abandonment
of the motor, and he had accordingly sent his father-in-law’s
chauffeur, with his pilot, to bring it back. They had to travel in a
horse carriage; he could not drive two motors at once, and the pilot
could not drive one. In due course the motor was retrieved, and having
been made clean and taut by the “first-class _mechanicien_ and driver”
was ready for the road. Colonel Ogilvie’s motor was also ready, and as
the pilot could now be left to travel home by train so that the owner
could sit by his chauffeur, there would be room for the new guest to
sit between the two ladies in the tonneau. When he mentioned this
arrangement, however, the Sheriff did not jump at it, but found
difficulties in the way of incommoding the ladies. At last he said:
“I hope you will excuse me, Ogilvie, but I had already formed a little
plan which I hoped with your sanction and that of your wife, to carry
out. Before breakfast I--Miss Hayes and I had been talking of the old
manner of posting. Her idea had, I think, been formed by seeing prints
of break-downs of carriages in run-away matches to Gretna Green, and I
suggested … In fact I ventured to offer to drive her in
old-fashioned postal style to Ambleside, and let her see what it was
like. I have in my house at Galloway a fine old shay that my father
and mother made their wedding trip in. It has always been kept in good
trim, and it is all right for the journey. As Sheriff I have post-boys
in my employ for great occasions and I have good horses of my own. So
when J … Miss Hayes accepted my offer … of the journey, I wired
off to have the trap sent down here. Indeed it should arrive within a
very short time. I have also wired for relays of horses to be ready at
Dumfries, Annan, Carlisle and Patterdale, so that when we start we
should go without a hitch. My boys know the road, and four horses will
spin us along in good style--even if we cannot keep up with your
motor.” So it was arranged that the pilot could occupy his old place
with the chauffeur; and the Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie would travel in
the tonneau, Darby and Joan fashion. This settlement of affairs had
only been arrived at after considerable discussion. When her father
had told Joy that she was to ride with her mother, she had spoken out
at once--without arrangement with Athlyne or even consultation with
him:
“Athlyne will drive me, and we can take Mrs. O’Brien with us. There is
stacks of room in the tonneau, and we have no luggage. I am sure my
husband would like to have her with us.”
But when the arrangement was mentioned to the foster-mother she
refused absolutely to obey any such order:
“What” she said “me go away in the coach wid the bride and groom! An
ould corrn-crake like me wid the quality; an this none other than me
own darlin’ lord and Miss Joy that I’m going to nurse the childher iv
her. No, my Lady, I’ll do no such thing! Do ye think I’m goin’ to
shpoil shport when me darlin’ does be drivin’ wid his beautiful wife
by him an’ him kissin’ her be the yard an’ the mile an’ the hour, an’
huggin’ her be the ton, as he ought to be doin’, or he’s not the man
I’ve always tuk him for. Shure ma’am” this to Mrs. Ogilvie “this is
their day an’ their hour; an’ iviry minit iv it is goold an dimons to
them! I’m tellin’ ye, I’d liefer put me eyes on Styx than do such a
thing!” Mrs. Ogilvie, who recognised the excellence of her ideas,
said:
“Then you must come with the Colonel and me. We’ve loads of room, and
we are all alone.”
“An’ savin’ yer presence, so ye should be ma’am whin ye’re seein’ yer
daughter goin’ aff wid her man. There’s loads iv things you and your
man will want to be talkin’ about. Musha! if it’s only rememberin’
what ye said an’ done whin ye was aff on yer own honeymoon. Mind ye,
ma’am, it’s not bad talkin’ or rememberin’, that’s not! No motors for
me, ma’am--to-day at any rate. I’ll go by the thrain that I kem’ by;
an’ when I get to yer hotel, if I’m before ye, I’ll shtraighten out
things for ye, an’ have the rooms nice an’ ready. For mind ye, ma’am,
me darlin’ Lord tould me that he’s goin’ to have a gran’ weddin’ to
Miss Joy whin he gets his license! Be the way, does he get that, can
ye tell me ma’am, from the polis or where the sheebeeners gits theirs?
An’ av there’s goin’ to be a weddin’ wid flowers an’ gowns an’ veils
an’ things in church, I suppose they won’t be too previous about
comin’ together. Musha! but’s it’s a quare sort iv ways the quality
has! Weddin’s here be the Sheriff, an’ thin be bishops, an’ wid
licenses. An’ him in Bowness--for that’s where he tells me he’s
shtoppin’--an’ his wife in Ambleside--on their weddin’ night! Begob!
Ireland’s changin’ fast, fur that usen’t to be the way. I’m thinkin’
that the Shinn-Fayn’ll have to wake up a bit if that’s the way things
is going to go. Or else there’ll be millea murther, from the Giant’s
Causeway to Cape Clear!” As Mrs. Ogilvie did not wish to discuss this
part of the question herself, she beckoned over Athlyne and told him
that Mrs. O’Brien had refused to go in his motor.
“Not even if I ask you or tell you to?” he said to the old woman,
having not the least intention of doing either.
“Not even thin, me Lord darlin’” she said with a cheery smile. “An’
I’m thinkin’ it’s thankin’ me--you an’ yer lovely wife too--’ll be
before ye’re well out of sight of this place. Faix it’s a nice sort iv
ould gooseberry I’d be, sittin’ in the carriage wid me arrums foulded,
wid me darlin’ Lord sittin’ in front dhrivin’ like a show-flure in a
shute iv leather. An’ his bride beside him, wid her arrums round him
bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an’ her wondhrin’,
wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he doesn’t kiss her what
she’s pinin’ fur. Augh! no! Not me, this time! I was a bride
meself--wanst. An’ I know betther nor me young Lady does now, what is
what on the weddin’ day afther the words is said. Though she’ll pick
up, so she will. She’s not the soort that’ll be long larnin’! Musha
…” Her further revelations and prophesyings were cut short by
Athlyne’s kissing her and saying “Good-bye!”
If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey southward was
Heaven for both the young people. Athlyne felt all the triumph of a
conqueror. If he had sung out loud, as he would like to have done, his
song would have been a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the
_elan_ of the conqueror about him; the stress of love-longing and
love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his conqueror’s
booty was beside him, well content to be in his train. Still even
conqueror’s love has its duties as well as its right, and he was more
tender than ever to Joy. She, sitting beside him in all the radiancy
of her new found wifehood, felt that their hearts were beating
together; and that their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes
would be lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the
steering wheel--for in the rush of departure he had other things to
think of than putting on the gloves which were squeezed behind him in
his seat--and would look up into his face she would feel a sort of
electric shock as his eyes, leaving for a moment their steering duty,
would flash into hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But
presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, and even her
curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such sudden looks. She
realized his idea of the gravity of the situation when she saw, as his
eyes returned to their necessary task, the hard look become fixed on
his eagle face--the look which to one engaged in his task means safety
to those under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She was
content that his will should prevail; that his duty should be the duty
of both; that her service was to help him. And the first moment she
realized this, she sighed happily as she sank back in her seat, her
lover-rapture merged in wife-content. She had compensation for the
foregoing in the exercise of her own pride. From her present
standpoint all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely
beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their higher and
further peaks; the dark woods running flamelike up into the glory of
the mountain colouring; the scent of the new-mown hay, drifted across
the track by the bracing winds sweeping over the hills; the glimmering
sapphire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught
flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. They went
fast; Athlyne’s wild excitement--the echo of the battle-phrenzy that
had won him distinction on the field--found some relief in speed. He
had thrown open the throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at
such a speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rushing
car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most far-flung beauty.
He did not fear police traps now. He did not fear anything! Even the
car seemed to have yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of
the situation. Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the
speed made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two who were
one.
Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey was of her
own choosing entirely. The manner of it had been this: when the party
had been arranged for starting her father had said to Athlyne:
“When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will do before us, will
you give orders to have everything ready for our party. You can do
this before you drive over to Bowness. You can come over to dinner if
you like. I suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each
other--all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. That can be
as soon as you like after you have got the license.” To this he had
replied:
“I should like to--and shall--do anything I can, sir, to meet your
wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything now, on quite my own
initiative. You see our dear girl has to be consulted; and I need not
tell you that her wishes must prevail--so far as I am concerned!”
“Quite right, my boy! Quite right!” said the old man. “Then we shall
leave the orders to her. Here, Joy!” she came over, and her father put
his suggestion to her. She hesitated gravely, and paused before she
spoke; she evidently intended that there should be no mistake as to
her deliberate intention:
“No! Daddy, that won’t do; I’m going with my husband!” She took his
arm and clung to him lovingly, her finger tips biting sweetly into his
flesh. “But, Daddy dear, we’ll come over to-morrow and lunch or
breakfast with you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast.
We shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come from Bowness!”
Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There was something so
sweetly--so truly wifely, in her words and attitude that it won to his
heart and set him in a state of rapture.
The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though ostensibly a mere
family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in that category. It was in
reality regarded by all the family at present resident in that town as
a wedding breakfast. They had one and all dressed themselves for the
occasion. Not in complete marriage costume, which would have looked a
little overdone, but in a modified form which sufficiently expressed
in the mind of each the prevailing spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds
before noon the “toot toot” of Athlyne’s powerful hooter was heard
some distance off. All rushed to the windows to see the great red car
swing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the bride and groom
sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne was not driving he wore an ordinary
morning dress--a well-cut suit of light grey which set out well his
tall, lithe powerful figure. Joy was wrapped in a huge motor coat of
soft grey, with her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the
hall they both took off their wraps, Athlyne helping his wife with the
utmost tenderness. When they came into the room they made a grey pair,
for with the exception of Athlyne’s brown eyes and hair and a scarlet
neck tie, and Joy’s dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her
husband’s on her breast, they were grey--all grey. It would seem as if
the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been built round Joy’s eyes.
She certainly looked lovely; there was a brilliant colour in her
cheeks, and between her scarlet lips her teeth, when she smiled,
flashed like pearls. She was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to
float about than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness
and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a wake of
beaming happiness behind her.
Athlyne too was manifestly happy; but in quieter fashion, as is the
way of a man. He was not overt or demonstrative in his attention to
Joy; but his eyes followed her perpetually, and his ears seemed to
hear every whisper regarding her. Her eyes too, kept turning to him
wherever she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood beaming
at the pair with a look of proprietary interest; but after a while she
began to be a trifle nettled by the husband’s absorption in her niece.
This feeling culminated when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of
the hearth-rug her husband started towards her with a swift movement
and with that quick intake of breath which manifests alarmed concern.
Judy’s impulsiveness found its expression in a semi-humorous,
semi-sarcastic remark:
“Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she was brittle! You
weren’t like that yesterday when you flashed her away from us at sixty
miles an hour!” For a moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed
on Joy who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to relieve
her drew their attention on himself:
“No, my dear Judy--I’m not ever going to call you anything else you
know. She wasn’t my wife then!”
“Wasn’t she!” came the answer tartly spoken. “She was just as much
your wife then. She had been married to you only twice! And the first
marriage was good enough for anything. I know that is so, for my
sheriff says so!--Oh …” The ejaculation was due to the shame of
sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed furiously; the
Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped over to her, took her hand,
raised it to his lips, and kissed it.
“I think my dear,” he said slowly and quietly, “that constitutes a
marriage--if you will have it so?” She looked at him shyly and said
quietly:
“If you like to count it a step on the way--like Joy’s first marriage,
do so--dear! Then if you like we can make it real when Joy becomes a
wife--in the Church!”
Everyone in the room was so interested in this little episode that two
of them only noticed a queer note of dissent or expostulation, coming
in the shape of a sort of modified grunt from the two matrons of the
party. Said Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy:
“All right, Judy. I’ll remember: ‘_my_ sheriff,’ if there’s any more
chaffing. It seems that he’ll be ‘brittle’ before long!” Judy flashed
one keen happy glance at him as she whispered close in his ear:
“Don’t be ungenerous!” For reply he whispered back:
“Forgive me--dear. I did not intend to be nasty. I’m too happy for
anything of that sort!”
As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life followed
constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. When Mrs. Ogilvie
asked the young couple if they had yet settled when the marriage--the
church marriage--was to come off, Joy looked down demurely at the
table cloth as her husband answered:
“I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. It is all in
hand and there will be no hitch and no delay. I had a wire this
morning from my solicitor about it; and also one from the Archbishop
congratulating me. I shall be home by the ten ten train on Thursday
and we can have the wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the
church and the parson ready.”
“But, my dear boy, isn’t that rather sudden?”
“Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I am concerned, I
shall wait as long as Joy wishes. Now that we are married already, I
fancy it doesn’t much matter. Only that anything which could possibly
bind me closer to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don’t care
whether we have a third marriage at all.” Mrs. Ogilvie caught her
daughter’s eye and answered at once:
“So be it then! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose there can be no
objection as to canonical hours?” The Sheriff answered:
“I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop goes through and
beyond all canonical hours and all places--in South Britain of course.
Armed with that instrument you can celebrate the marriage when and
where you will.” Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding hands and
whispering.
“Of course Joy will stay with us till then--Athlyne.” Mrs. Ogilvie
spoke the last word with a pause; it was the first time she had used
his name.
“Not ‘of course.’” he answered. “She is the head of her house now and
must be free to do as she please. But I am sure she will like to come
to you.” Joy made a protesting “_moue_” at him as she said:
“Of course I’d like to be with Mother and Daddy, and Judy--if I--if I
am not to be with you--Oh, darling! you’re hurting me. You’re so
frightfully strong!”
Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved about the room. Joy
was sitting on the sofa with her Mother when Mrs. O’Brien came sidling
up by the wall. When she got close she curtsied and said:
“Won’t ye tell me now, me Lady, if I’m to be the wan to nurse yer
childher?”
“Oh dear! But Mrs. O’Brien, I said only yesterday that I’d tell you
that some other time. You _are_ previous!--Didn’t you hear that I am
to be married on Thursday. Later on …”
“No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday ye shpoke; an
to-day’s to-day. Mayn’t I nurse yer ch …”
“Tell her, dear--” her Mother had begun, when Judy joined the group.
“What’s all this about? Whose children are you talking of?” began the
merry spinster. But her sister cut her short:
“Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and try and get
accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep your Sheriff out of an
asylum.” Athlyne, too, with ears preternaturally sharp on Joy’s
account, had heard something of the conversation. Looking over at his
wife, he saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted look
in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray.
“I say, let her alone you all! I hope they’re not teasing you
darling?” Joy, fearing that something unpleasant might be said, on one
side or the other, made haste to reassure him.
Then she closed his mouth in the very best way that a young wife can
do--the way that seems to take his feet from earth and to raise him to
heaven.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
Inconsistencies of the author that have been preserved:
Missing commas from some direct addresses and quoted passages.
Capitalization of he/him when referring to Lord Athlyne.
Spelling and hyphenization of some words (_e.g._ cross-roads/cross
roads, doorway/door-way, Lake Country/Lake County, etc.).
Alterations to the text:
Minor punctuation fixes (missing periods, improperly paired quotation
marks, etc.).
[Chapter I]
Change “on the _nothern_ shore of Lake Superior” to _northern_.
“We may be Americans; but _we’ve_ not to be played for suckers” to
_we’re_.
[Chapter II]
“Judy’s insight or _prophesy_ was being realised” to _prophecy_.
(_prophesy_ is a verb and thus doesn’t make sense).
[Chapter IV]
“without names or _indentification_ marks” to _identification_.
[Chapter V]
“she sank _sensless_ to the ground” to _senseless_.
“When he saw that _he_ was only fainting” to _she_. (It was Joy who
fainted, not a male character.)
[Chapter VI]
“the overwhelming impulses of _mother-hood_” to _motherhood_.
“he was _painfuly_ conscious of his” to _painfully_.
[Chapter VII]
“he felt horribly _dissappointed_” to _disappointed_.
“She spoke in a gay _debonnair_ manner” to _debonair_.
[Chapter VIII]
“the forthcoming visit to _Eurpoe_” to _Europe_.
“She’s the _letterwriter_ of the family” to _letter-writer_.
[Chapter X]
“have called _unconcious_ cerebration,” to _unconscious_.
“She had to content _hersef_ with” to _herself_.
“whom he wished to _propitate_” to _propitiate_.
“the whole _word_ seemed to revolve round Joy” to _world_.
[Chapter XI]
“For my own part _of_ ever I fall in love” to _if_.
“he met the _chaffeur_ whom he sent back” to _chauffeur_.
“the personal _manisfestation_ of Nature’s God” to _manifestation_.
“Then _impulvisely_ she put her hand” to _impulsively_.
[Chapter XII]
“with a trusty _chaffeur_ or by train” to _chauffeur_.
“in London at Brown’s Hotel _Albermarle_ Street” to _Albemarle_.
“at the station at _Windmere_” to _Windermere_.
[Chapter XIII]
“between which her inward _natured_ swayed pendulum-wise” to _nature_.
[Chapter XIV]
“hope that it _woud_ be in a spot” to _would_.
“necessitated by the _eaboration_ of organised society” to
_elaboration_.
“_uness_ we hear to the contrary” to _unless_.
“Love surely was so _triumpahnt_” to _triumphant_.
[Chapter XV]
“was not due at _Windmere_ till seven” to _Windermere_.
“while _she_ poor girl would have to bear all the brunt” to _the_.
[Chapter XVI]
“with as _brace_ a face and bearing as she could muster” to _brave_.
[Chapter XVIII]
“he _determind_ to try to make amends” to _determined_.
(“Why, madam ‘why’” he almost roared whilst...) Change the passage
in quotes to an exclamation (because of the roaring).
[Chapter XXI]
“There was a prolonged _screceh_” to _screech_.
“two parties came into this _juxta-position_” to _juxtaposition_.
[Chapter XXII]
“What of of the future?” delete one _of_.
[Chapter XXIII]
“our son-in-law, _in_ none other than Mr. Richard Hardy” to _is_.
[End of Text]