They were married in the little Kitty Hawk church at noon the next day.
Before the hour of the wedding came, certain matters had been attended
to. Letters had been written in time to catch the launch which would
return with the minister from Kitty Hawk to the mainland. The clothing
stock of the "Bazaar" had been materially reduced by the demands both
Betty and Fessenden had made upon it. The _Wisp_ had been loaded with
everything in the way of food, water, and utensils, that could be needed
for a fortnight's cruise.
"Why bother with the sloop?" Danton had demanded. "There's plenty of
room on the _West Wind_. We can all go honeymooning together, eh, Madge?
Over to Bermuda, if you like."
To Fessenden's infinite relief, Betty had declined this well-meant
offer. "No, thank you," she had said, blushing a little. "After
to-night, I'll go back to the dear little _Wisp_--where I'll belong, you
know. Bob White is going to take me down through the sounds, and then
back through the Dismal Swamp, home."
Madge and Danton, supplemented by the entire crew of the _West Wind_,
were the witnesses at the wedding.
It seemed to Fessenden that Betty's eyes were bluer than the sea that
broke on the inlet bar, and the light in them more mysterious and
wonderful. She looked a fair and innocent child.
He answered the minister's questions, and even signed the marriage
certificate, in a sort of daze, a daze from which he roused himself only
after they had eaten the wedding breakfast on the _West Wind_, and
having boarded the _Wisp_, were waving farewell to the others across the
water.
Betty serenely assumed command. "I'll take the wheel, Boatswain Bob,"
she said, "and you get up sail."
He cast off from the float, and set jib, flying jib, and mainsail in a
trice. As the sloop gathered headway, the helmswoman stood under the
stern of the larger yacht.
"Good-by, good-by, children," called Danton patronizingly.
"_Bon voyage_, children," chorused Madge. "Be sure to love each other."
"Good-by, old married people," retorted Fessenden.
The _Wisp_ stood wing-and-wing down the sound. Fessenden lounged at his
ease beside the charming captain.
"Betty," he said, "has it yet occurred to you that you are really my
wife?"
She gave him a swift, half-frightened glance. "No-o. I haven't really
had much time to think about it, you know."
"Just now it came over me in a sort of wave. If you don't object, I'll
call you 'dear' occasionally, simply to assure myself it's true."
"Whenever you like," she returned politely.
"Dear!"
"Oh! That's rather--pronounced, isn't it?"
"Very well pronounced. Very pleasant to pronounce, in fact."
She sat down trustfully beside him, a guiding hand on the wheel. "Do you
know, Bob White, I've often thought it would be delightful to sail like
this with a ra-ther good-looking--comrade?"
"Am I the man, may I ask?"
"You are."
"Thank you--dear. And do you know that for the last two or three days
I've been thinking I'd give my hope of salvation to sail like this with
Betty Landis?"