Will Scarlett's wedding-day had very nearly come. This was Tuesday, and
on the following Thursday he and Bet were to go to church together, and
to be made man and wife. On the following Monday honest Will was to
sail away on a long cruise to China, and his young wife might possibly
not see him again for a couple of years.
Never mind that; they were both young and buoyant with hope just
now--in short, Will felt his love so strong that he was sure it could
bridge the whole distance from China to that dread attic in Paradise
Row, and surround Bet's heart and life with a halo which would make all
things endurable to her; and Bet's love was also so strong--for it was
a way of hers when she gave her heart to give it absolutely--that she
too was certain that the golden chain of affection would reach from
Paradise Row to China, and that, though outwardly divided, she and her
brave sailor-mate would in reality still be together.
"You look out for the moon, Bet," Will had said to her. "The bonny moon
will be shining on you and on me jest at the same minute; and the stars
too, for that matter. Why, when one comes to think of it, we'll have a
crowd of things in common still, sweetheart, although we has got to say
good bye for a time."
In short, these young folks were in paradise just now. They were as
poor as poor could be, and not an individual who heard of their
relations to each other would have envied them; but love, which very
often fails to appear on the threshold of what the world considers a
great match, was shedding quite a golden glory over these two at the
present moment. In reality, therefore, Will and Bet were not poor.
They were to part on Monday, but between that parting and the present
moment would come the short church ceremony, and the little honeymoon,
which they had arranged to spend at Birkenhead. Mother Bunch was to
take care of the boys during Bet's absence, and the girl's own small
preparations were nearly made.
On Tuesday she sat down in her attic and thought how a few short days
had worked a complete revolution in her life. She was excited and
hopeful and happy, and nothing was further from her mind at that moment
than a certain dreadful old proverb which declares that there is many a
slip betwixt the cup and the lip. The boys were playing in the back
court behind the house, and Bet, having tidied up her very humble
apartment, until, literally, there was not a pin in the wrong place,
had risen to go downstairs, when she heard a lumbering, rolling, and
very heavy step ascending. There was no mistaking who was coming to pay
her a visit--no one but Mother Bunch could so bang herself against the
sides of the slimy wails, or cause the frail balustrade to creak and
groan, as she lurched in turn against it; no one but Mother Bunch could
so puff and pant and groan, and finally launch herself into Bet's attic
like a dead weight, and sit down on the pallet bed, spreading out her
broad hands on her knees, and puffing more than ever.
"Oh, glory! them stairs'll be the death of me. Give me a drop of water,
for the love of heaven, Bet, my dear. Oh, then, 'tis me as is the good
frind to you; but 'tis black mischief as they're brewing agin' you,
honey, and no mistake."
Here Mother Bunch recovered her breath, and Having taken a sip or two
of the water which Bet gave her in a cracked teacup, began to pour out
her tale.
"Come close to me, honey," she said, "for it's thrue as walls has ears,
and when them as means mischief is abroad you're never safe, come what
may. But we'll spite them, see if we don't--we'll be even with
them--you and me, and the sailor boy. Oh, ochone, ochone!--but it's a
black world entirely!"
"What have you heard, Mrs. O'Flaherty?" asked Bet. She was trembling
now, for Mother Bunch's evident perturbation had infected her. "Tell me
the whole story, Mrs. O'Flaherty--you bring my heart into my mouth when
you look at me like that, and don't tell me what the real matter is."
"Treachery's the matter, darlint--and a mane, cowardly trick to ruin an
honest man, and to give the handsomest girl in Liverpool to a villain.
Oh, no--I don't know none too much, only a word dropped here and a word
there--and Mother Bunch being what we call in ould Ireland mighty cute,
and able to put two and two together. There's a trick to prevent you
and Will being wed, Bet; and it's atween your father and that low
sailor feller he was talking to--and I heard it in the 'Star and
Garter' whin I went there for sixpennu'th of beer just now. They never
set eyes on me, becase I'm frinds with the man at the bar, ye knows,
and I just dropped down on a bit of a three-legged stool near him, and
wan't seen at all, at all. Thin I heard them a contriving and making up
their bits of plans, and something was to happen on Thursday as 'ud
take our breath away, and the sailor would have his own way; and
Will-oh, I couldn't catch what was to be done with Will; but for
certain sure he wasn't to be no mate of yourn; and-and-the long and
short of it is, honey, that there's black treachery to the fore."
"Let me go," said Bet.
She had been kneeling by Mother Bunch, and drinking in every word. Now
she stood up, and taking her mother's plaid shawl, wrapped it round her
head and shoulders.
"I'm going out," she said; "see to the boys, Mrs. O'Flaherty. I'll be
back, maybe, by-and-bye. Maybe I won't."
"I thought you'd take things in the right spirit, dear," responded
Mother Bunch, who showed no particular curiosity to learn Bet's present
purpose.
Having delivered her soul, she felt no further anxiety with regard to
the matter. Bet was a strong lass, who, when apprised of her danger,
could fight her own battles. With the remark that "she would see to the
little varmints," and not expect Bet back until she chose to come, she
rolled herself downstairs; and Bet followed her quickly, and soon
reached the street.
She walked fast; her heart was beating, and her head was in a whirl.
All her latent fear and distrust of her father had risen in full force.
As to Dent-for, of course, the sailor was Dent-she regarded him with a
kind of sick horror. Could she outwit these two who were plotting
against her and her lover?-was there time?
She made straight for the place where she thought it most likely she
should find Will. He generally spent his evenings with Hester Wright.
When she reached the lodgings a neighbor told her that Hester was out;
but as she was about to descend the stairs, with a sickening feeling at
her heart, Will's whistle, as he bounded up three steps at a time, fell
like the most joyful music on her ears. She sprang to him and clasped
her arms around his neck.
"Will-dear Will-I ha' come-we must be wed to-night, Will."
She was panting and trembling, and her words were only coherent by
reason of the great stress and force with which she emphasized them.
Will wondered if she had taken leave of her senses.
"Come into Hester's room, Bet," he said, tenderly. "Here, set down,
darling; why, how terrible you do tremble!"
"Oh, Will, I'm mortal frightened. There's more bad than good in this
yer world; and the bad's agin' us-and bad things and bad people have
such a power of strength in them, Will-and they'll part us if we don't
outwit them. Oh, Will, let us be made man and wife this blessed night."
"But we can't, Bet. I'd like to--it could never be a minute too soon
for me--but the license ain't due to me afore to-morrow, and Thursday
is fixed up at St. Giles' Church for the parson to wed us. Thursday is
not so _very_ far off, sweetheart. Why, I expect it seems longer to me
than to you, Bet, for I ha' loved you, as Jacob did Rachel, for many a
long year. What's two days when you ha' waited years?" concluded Will,
and he put his arm round Bet and tried to get her to rest her head on
his shoulder.
She almost pushed his strong arm away.
"You don't understand," she said. "It's to-night or it's never--it's
you and me to go away to-night in the darkness, and hide ourselves for
a bit, and let the wicked do their worst--or it's you and me to be
parted, Will, and me to be hungering for you, and you for me--allays
and allays."
Here Bet related what Mother Bunch had told her--that there was a plot
brewing, and how her father and Isaac Dent meant to ruin her and Will.
She told her story with great excitement and emphasis--her eyes
flashing, and the color coming and going in her cheeks. To her it was a
terrible story, replete with all possibilities of parting and disaster.
The terror of it had taken hold of her, and her teeth almost chattered
as she gave emphasis to her words.
To her dismay, however, she saw that the tale itself made little
impression on Will. He was much distressed at Bet's agitation, and did
all in his power to soothe her; but he could not get himself to believe
that Granger or Dent could possibly injure either of them. He had all
an honest young fellow's sovereign contempt for these worthies, and he
even gently laughed when Bet repeated her assurance that the deep plot
they were hatching between them would succeed, and part her and Will
forever.
"I ain't afeard," said Will, stoutly. "I don't believe in there being
any plot, Bet. Mother Bunch has just had a bit of a dhrame, as she
calls it, and she didn't hear half she thinks she heard. As to Granger
and Dent, I know they don't love me, and they might do me a nasty turn,
if they knew how. But then, they don't know how, Bet, darling; and I
ain't going to hide and creep away in the darkness, not for no man.
You're shook with trouble, poor Bet; but there ain't no fear--not the
least in life; and we'll be wed on Thursday, sweetheart, and have a
good time afterwards."
"Oh, Will, Will!" said Bet. Her lover's want of belief in her story
seemed to her the crowning drop. She clasped her hands, and suddenly
went down on her knees to him.
"Let us be wed to-night, Will!" she asked--"to save me from Isaac Dent,
Will! Make me your true wife to-night, whether you believe the story or
not!"
Here she cried and wept, and wrung her hands.
Will was dreadfully perturbed-he did not believe in any danger for
himself, but he was distressed for Bet. He raised her gently from the
floor.
"You know as I'd take you to my arms this minute, darling, ef it could
be done," he said. "But it seems to me they hedge round a wedding with
a sight of difficulties, and you must either eat your heart out waiting
till the banns is called, or have a license. My license is due
to-morrow, but not afore."
The idea, however, of the license was very dim to Bet.
"I thought the parson would say some words, and we might be man and
wife," she said. "You could send him the license, whatever that means,
by-and-bye, Will-but I'm _sure_ the parson would say the good words
over us to-night, and then we might go away together. There's a deal of
things can be done, if one but tried; and you and me needn't have our
hearts broke because we must wait for daylight to get that bit of
paper. Oh, Will, let's go together and find the parson. Dear Will,
darling, let's go at once!-let's ax him, leastways-and if he says nay,
we'll abide by it. Let's go, Will, now, this very minute. Let's find
the parson, and abide by his nay or his yea!"
Will, bewildered, agitated by Bet's suffering and despair, yielded a
somewhat unwilling assent.
"But I must go to my lodgings first," he said. "For I ha' got some
money to change. Ef the parson can be found, and ef he'll wait for his
license until to-morrow, and say the good words over us to-night, Bet,
why, we can cross to Birkenhead by the last boat this evening. But I'd
a sight rather wait till Thursday," he added under his breath; "for it
seems like running away when there's nought to run from."