My brilliant scheme, born of want of foresight and knowledge of the
world, was to go to Boston, where I had some friends, and start life
humbly as a music teacher. Muriel was quite ready to face the future
with me, which was much to the credit of her courage and to my credit
as a lover. We were quite unaware of how watchful mother Joseph and
her ready tool, Lizette, had been, and that Doctor Joseph had been
telegraphed to before we started. Being ignorant of these things, we
set off with but scanty preparation in the way of personal effects, and
but little money.
We travelled second class, which we thought was very cunning, when of
course it was mere stupidity; for we were far more noticeable in a
second class coach than we ever should have been in first class. It
really did not matter much, as it happened, because a detective was on
our trail very soon after our train was out of sight of Riviere du Loup.
We were happy and confident for a matter of perhaps four hours,
when a male person came and sat immediately opposite us. He was an
ordinary-looking individual, with a face like a mask; but it was quite
evident that we were objects of interest to him. After a short time
he opened conversation with me by asking me if I was Mr. Wesblock. I
replied that my name was Wesblock, and knew at once what was coming.
“Well, I presume,” said this stranger, “that the lady with you is
Miss Joseph. I am Detective Pfhal. I just happened fortunately to
be on this line. I have a telegram in my pocket from Doctor Joseph
instructing me to conduct the lady home, which I will do, if you have
no objections.” And he smiled at the idea of any objection I might make.
To say that I was exceedingly uncomfortable is hardly to express my
sensations; but I kept my head and said:
“In the first place, Mr. Pfhal, I presume I may examine your
credentials. If they prove correct I will ask you to retire a few
minutes while I discuss the situation with Miss Joseph, whom I will ask
to decide what our action will be. We cannot hinder you from following
us, but you cannot take us anywhere we are unwilling to go.”
The sense of Muriel’s being at my side gave me the courage to make this
speech. Mr. Pfhal smiled again, exhibited a silver badge, which he wore
on his suspenders, and produced Doctor Joseph’s telegram, after which
he retired to the end of the car, keeping all the while his mask-like
face towards us.
Muriel and I turned and looked at each other, and smiled as well as we
could. We came down from the clouds and discussed things as they were,
and made such plans for the future as our forethought told us would
be necessary. We concluded that there was nothing to do but to go to
our respective homes and pretend to be good for a while. We swore the
oaths of lovers to each other, and presently Mr. Pfhal came and sat
down opposite to us once more; we informed him of our decision which he
declared to be the only possible one, for the present, at any rate.
At the next station Pfhal carried my love away. I kissed her good-bye
and continued my journey alone. It is useless to attempt to explain
my feelings. I was simply dazed, like a man passing slowly out of the
condition of anæsthesia. I could not think in a straight line in any
one direction. I knew I had made an awful mistake; that I would be
laughed at by many, blamed by some; that I had now angered Muriel’s
father and had put Muriel in a very bad light. I even fancied that she
might turn from me herself and hate me for having made her look so
foolish; but she was of a character not easily moved from a purpose.
Mrs. Joseph, I knew, would make things very unpleasant as far as was
in her power, and I hated to think of the grinning, cynical face of
Lizette.
I decided to go to my mother, the only one who thoroughly understood
me. She was at Kennebunk, on the coast of Maine, for the summer. It
is a long, tiresome trip from Riviere du Loup to Kennebunk. It was
particularly so for me. I neither ate nor slept, and could only think
and worry and wonder. When I arrived at Kennebunk I was a mental
and physical wreck. I was dirty, unkempt, tired, worried, angry,
humiliated, and in a manner heart-broken as well.
My mother was never much surprised at any action of mine; so when
I appeared before her, although she supposed me to be at the mill,
her astonishment was not great. She saw by my looks that something
important had happened. She took me to her room, and there I tearfully
unfolded the tale of my latest exploit. She listened to me silently and
unquestioningly, and when I had finished, kissed me as if I had been
still a young repentant child.
“Never mind, son,” she said; “don’t fret and fume. Things will come out
all right. Now lie down and have a good sleep. You are fagged out. The
whole business will look very much better to you when you are rested
and have eaten a good meal.”
I felt better after dividing my troubles with mother, went to bed and
slept soundly for eleven hours. I remained one day with mother and
returned to the mill, where I remained for two months and kept busy,
which is a great cure for everything. I had daily letters from Muriel,
who was full of hope for our future, and continued to believe in me.
Mrs. Joseph made Muriel’s life very unhappy during these days; but, of
course, accomplished nothing in her attempt to force a break with me.
She was that kind of woman, known as a “nagger,” who never achieves
anything but aggravation.
After making a mess of an elopement, I could hardly expect much
sympathy from my father; his letters were all very cold, business-like,
short, sharp, and to the point. I believe he was more annoyed at my
failure than he would have been if I had successfully carried Muriel
off. To him I wrote long and carefully thought-out explanations of my
hopes and desires, which, together with my successful efforts to be a
useful person at the mill, softened him to a great extent. Things were
thus beginning to come to a peaceful level, when one day I received
from my father a peremptory command to be in Montreal, at a certain
hour of a certain day.
The unusual tone of his letter was disquieting and set me wondering
what could be in store for me. I strongly suspected that the fact of
the daily correspondence between Muriel and me had been discovered and
that Mrs. Joseph was behind some move to give me trouble. My suspicion
proved correct. When I arrived at the house, it was early evening and
the drawing-room was lighted up. I found mother, father, and Doctor
Joseph awaiting me. As I walked in I observed that all three looked
anything but good-natured.
Even mother looked very much put out. Doctor Joseph was a very
plain-spoken man, and I judged that he had been making remarks which
were more to the point than exactly pleasing. I never heard what
had occurred before my entrance on the scene, and never had enough
curiosity to ask what it was.
“Well, sir,” said the Doctor, addressing me, and taking me in from top
to toe, with a very unfriendly eye; “a nice young reprobate you are.
What have you to say for yourself?”
I sat down without replying.
“I want you to discontinue annoying my daughter,” he continued.
He was a large, masterful man. I was young, and he put me very ill at
ease. I stammered and blushed and remained dumb.
“Well, well!” he said, stamping his heavy cane on the floor
impatiently, “what have you to say? Do you intend to stop annoying us?”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked tremblingly.
“I want you to write to my daughter, now, before us three, that all
this silly love business is ended. Write what you like, give what
reasons you please, but make it plain to her that all is over between
you and her,” and he laughed a mirthless, cynical laugh.
“Well, I won’t,” I blurted out.
“Oh, you won’t?” he asked.
“No, I won’t, unless Muriel tells me she wishes it, with her own lips,”
I replied, gradually getting my mental feet. “I won’t take her written
word which has been bullied out of her.”
I was on the verge of getting stormy, and at such times my voice
invariably goes down into deep chest notes, and becomes very loud.
These symptoms showed the Doctor I was unduly excited, and he turned to
my father saying; “Mr. Wesblock, I think you should send your son away.
Send him far away, to Scotland, where there is a very fine university,
and I will pay half the expense.”
“Damn your impertinence,” said my father; “send your daughter away, or
allow the young people to see each other under reasonable restrictions.”
“That is impossible,” said the Doctor. “I should not be forced to send
my daughter away; your son is the aggressor. He cannot be allowed to
come to my house. I have other intentions for my daughter. She is too
young to marry yet, as is your son, who is moreover, I take it, without
means and dependent upon you. It is useless to discuss the matter
further; but I will take steps to protect myself and my family.”
“You are making a sensation of a youthful affair which has no real
importance,” said my father. “Protect yourself as you see fit. I can
see no reason for interfering with my son’s love affairs. I will bid
you good-evening.”
Whereupon he left the room, and the wrathful Doctor could do no less
than bow stiffly to my mother and take his departure.
Extremes meet. My father went to one extreme in considering my love
affair of no consequence whatever, while Muriel’s father went to the
other. Amongst them all—Muriel’s parents, Lizette, and my parents—they
succeeded in driving Muriel and me into a hasty and ill-considered
marriage, which might have turned out very disastrously for one or both
of us.
After long talks with my mother and father, I returned to the mill and
wrote Muriel a long, true and explicit report of the events. I had
the sincere sympathy of my mother in this matter. As for my father,
he was inclined to be amused by my entanglement in a love affair. He
entered thoroughly into my feelings regarding Mrs. Joseph, although
he had never met her. Later, when these two came to know each other,
Mrs. Joseph amused my father and he horrified her. So profound was her
horror of him that she actually liked me in comparison.
During one of our ensuing talks, my father said to me: “Son, you talk
of marriage as if it was an end; it is not an end, it is only a means
towards an end. You have no idea of the responsibilities you propose to
undertake; you are a mere child in worldly things. Where would you be
without me?”
“But I have you, father,” I replied. “And why shouldn’t my marriage
turn out as well as other people’s marriages? We all have to start. You
married young.”
“My poor innocent,” said my father. “Yes, I married young, but I had
brains and health, no social position and no education.”
“Have I no brains, governor?” I asked.
“You have, son, but not the kind that makes a living easily, and you
have no health to fall back on.” My face fell.
“Cheer up, boy,” he added thereupon, by way of consolation. “You may be
lucky—ay, and happy, yet never marry!”
“But I am engaged to Muriel Joseph,” said I.
This made him laugh, and he walked away. Here in truth he made a
mistake. He should have taken me off into the woods and talked to me
for four days. Heart-to-heart talks in the wide privacy of the woods,
when there is no hurry, are very enlightening. Every effort was now
made to separate Muriel and me, to stop our correspondence and prevent
our meetings; but we had too many friends and supporters, and really
suffered but little inconvenience from the watchfulness of Mrs. Joseph,
Lizette and others. The obstacles put in our way only added zest to the
game and a touch of stubbornness to our determination. Muriel’s home
became very much divided against itself, and after a very miserable six
months she was goaded into open rebellion, packed her trunks and took
refuge with a friendly aunt.
Dear, sweet, long-suffering, beautiful Aunt Molly. She seems now to
have been nearer to me than any aunt of my own. Although she was the
sister of Mrs. Joseph, she is entitled to all the adjectives with which
I have introduced her. In exterior she was prim and proper, but she had
an old-fashioned romantic heart. She was old and nearly bald, and wore
lace caps, but her face was young and sweet and her smile winning. She
was a widow who had seen a most miserable married life, but this had
not soured her, and she was an inveterate matchmaker. So it was a great
joy to her to take poor persecuted Muriel in.
The Doctor was a forceful and masterful man in every department of his
life except that of his home, where the female element predominated.
He followed Muriel, and used every endeavour to bring her to what he
called her senses, but she demanded terms to which he knew Mrs. Joseph
would not listen.
“Send for your lover,” he said to her finally while in a rage, “send
for him; marry him if you will. I give my consent. Tell him this and
you will see him withdraw, or I will be very much surprised. If he
marries you, you will rue it to the end of your days. I am through with
you.”
These things being duly reported to me, I went back forthwith to
Montreal with fire in my eye and determination in my soul. What
else could I do? Could I allow an old man, dominated by a foolish,
headstrong woman, to dare me to marry his daughter whom I dearly loved?
Supported by my old chum, John, I bearded the Doctor in his office.
When he saw me he frowned and greeted me with one word: “Well?” I
suspect that he had more confidence in me and more kind feelings
towards me than he dared show, for he had to do what he was told.
“Well,” I replied, “I have come to ask for the written consent to your
daughter’s marriage with me. You have declared that you will consent;
are you prepared to do it? If you do, we will be married this evening
at her aunt’s house.”
The old man scowled and grunted; but said nothing. He sat down at his
desk, wrote his consent and handed it to me.
“Let me tell you, young man,” he said, “you are doing me a great
injury; you are doing my daughter an injustice, and you are ruining
yourself. But I will not stop you, for I must put an end to the
intolerable condition of things in my house; surprises, explosions,
plots and counter-plots; it is impossible. Take my daughter. She will
lead you by the nose for the rest of your life.”
I might have argued the case with him, but I knew it would be useless.
I offered him my hand as a tacit hand of good faith, but he was pleased
to ignore it, and John and I withdrew, two very much shaken young men.
Muriel and I were married the same evening at the house of Muriel’s
aunt; and John was my best man. Doctor Joseph was present, silent,
stern and unrelenting. It was a very informal affair, a marriage in
haste, which has been repented several times since. But when it is
looked back upon, at this date, by the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Wesblock,
it is seen to have been on the whole good and not to be regretted.
Doctor Joseph took his gloomy presence away immediately after the
ceremony, and we made a bold attempt at being merry.
Aunt Molly was radiant, in her glory; it was one of the happiest events
of her life. She produced plum cake and her very best wine, which was a
sacred thing never even to be thought of except on momentous occasions.
“Oh, you naughty young things,” she said, “you will be very, very happy
and the Doctor will forgive you, I know.” The Doctor sat silent. If he
had spoken, he would have wept. I was really sorry for him. Aunt Molly
did her best to cheer him up by talking at him. She did not dare to
address him directly. But he neither moved nor spoke.
Two young, foolish things we were, Muriel and I, thinking that our
troubles were all over, whereas they had not yet begun. My wife was not
eighteen and I was twenty-one.