THE MISSING WORD FOUND
IT was a lovely morning in June, and the little village of Rosthwaite
was all astir, and filled with pleasurable excitement. Some were
standing at their doors; others were looking out of their windows;
from many a farm on the hillside, from many a lonely cottage, people
were coming in little groups towards the church; the whole place, so
quiet at other times, was filled with life and movement. Work was laid
aside, every one was in holiday attire, for it was Marjorie Douglas's
wedding-day.
Every one loved her; she had grown-up amongst them from childhood; she
had gone in and out amongst them as a friend, and they were loth to
part with her. But on her wedding-day, they must not think of that;
she must see none but bright faces. Old Mary had hobbled on her stick
all the way from Seatoller; Sarah Grisedale had come down from the
mountains, and had waited an hour in the churchyard before the time of
the wedding; and many another whom Marjorie had cheered and comforted
was to be found in the little church, to pray for a blessing on the
fair young bride.
The wedding was by licence; and the Vicar, at the bridegroom's
dictation, had filled up the required information in the register
before the arrival of the bridal party. Only two people knew what name
was written there, above the name of Marjorie Douglas. The clergyman
knew, of course, for he had written the words; and Mrs. Douglas knew.
Kenneth had told her the night before. Marjorie herself had no idea, as
yet, of the future that lay before her, or of the name which would that
day become hers.
It was a very pretty though quiet wedding; and as Mrs. Douglas heard
Kenneth's manly voice saying, in tones of deepest feeling:
"I, Kenneth, take thee, Marjorie, to my wedded wife," she felt that she
was giving her child to one whom she could fully trust, one who was not
only a kind and honourable man, but who was, above all things, a true
servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Then came the signing of the names in the marriage registers. Mrs.
Douglas was talking to Marjorie whilst Kenneth signed both books, and
then the clergyman called her to write her name below. He had placed
the blotting-paper over the upper line on which Kenneth's name stood.
"Do you mind leaving it there, Marjorie?" he said. "I am very
particular about the neatness of my registers, and the lace on your
sleeve may blot it."
Marjorie laughed, and wrote her name without removing the
blotting-paper which covered the entry above. Then the books were
closed, and the bridal party drove to Fernbank, amidst the cheers and
good wishes of the villagers.
About an hour afterwards, Colonel Verner's carriage stood at the gate,
waiting to convey the bride and bridegroom to Keswick station, and
Kenneth and Marjorie came down the pretty garden, followed by the whole
family, including good old Dorcas. Then the last good-byes were said,
and they drove off; but at the bridge Kenneth stopped the carriage; he
had forgotten his stick, he said.
He soon returned with it; but Marjorie did not know that he had
purposely left it behind, in order that he might be able to slip a
small envelope into her mother's hand. And when Mrs. Douglas opened
it, after the carriage had driven away, she found that it contained a
cheque for four thousand pounds.
The honeymoon was not to be a long one; only a fortnight in Scotland
amidst the beauties of the Northern Highlands. Kenneth was anxious to
get back to Eagleton, for he had much to arrange there, and Marjorie
was eager to see her new home.
She asked many questions about it during their wedding tour.
For example: "Would all be ready when they arrived?"
"Oh yes; the servants were there."
"Servants! Would they be able to afford to keep two? Would it not be
too extravagant?"
He could not help smiling when she said this, and had nearly let his
secret out.
"Wait till you get home, Marjorie," he said, "and if you then think it
is too many, we can send one away."
At another time she wanted to know how many rooms there were in the
house, and what it was like. He told her that he was a bad hand at
describing places; she would see when she got there.
"Is it a large house?"
"Larger than Mrs. Hall's."
"As big as Fernbank?"
"Yes, he thought it was quite as big as Fernbank."
And so the happy fortnight passed away, and the day arrived on which
they were to return home.
"First-class tickets again. How extravagant you are, Kenneth!" she
said, as they got into the train.
"One isn't married every day, Marjorie, and this is our honeymoon,
remember."
"We are getting near North Eaton, Marjorie," said Kenneth, some hours
after. "I think it is the next station."
Marjorie looked eagerly out of the window. "What lovely country!" she
said. "I am so glad it is such a pretty place."
"The train is slowing down now, Marjorie."
"Oh, Kenneth, there is such a beautiful carriage waiting at the
station, with a pair of lovely cream-coloured horses!"
"Very likely. There are several large estates in the neighbourhood."
A footman was standing on the platform, and came to the carriage door
touching his hat. Kenneth got out and spoke to him, and walked with him
a little way down the platform. Then he came back to where Marjorie was
standing.
"Now, Marjorie, we will go to the carriage. Charles will see after the
luggage."
"What carriage?"
"The one you saw standing on the road outside."
"Whose is it?"
"Lord Derwentwater's; it is going to drive us home."
"Do you know Lord Derwentwater, Kenneth?"
"Yes, very well."
"How very kind of him to send his carriage for us! Isn't it, Kenneth?"
They got in, and were soon driving rapidly along the road to Eagleton.
"Shall we soon be home?" she asked presently.
"Yes, very soon now. It is about two miles, I think."
Marjorie was too excited even to talk now. She was longing to see her
new home, of which she knew so little.
"Kenneth," she said, about ten minutes later, "where are we going? They
are stopping before a lodge, and they are opening the great gates. They
must have made some mistake."
"No mistake at all, dearest; it is quite right."
"But look at this lovely avenue! We seem to be getting near some very
grand house. Are you sure it is all right, Kenneth?"
"Quite right, darling. Look out; you will see the house in a few
minutes."
They came out of the shade of the avenue into the bright evening
sunshine beyond, and there before them, in all its magnificence, stood
Eagleton Castle.
"Marjorie, do you like your home?"
"Kenneth," she said, in a half-frightened whisper, "I can't understand
it. What does it all mean?"
"It means, my dear little woman, that I have found out the missing word
in the letter, and that you are Lady Derwentwater."
THE END
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.