And now the small group of men and women who were to be present at the
marriage of Rose Otway and Jervis Blake were gathered together in Mrs.
Robey's large drawing-room. Seven people in all, for the Dean had not
yet arrived.
In addition to the master and mistress of the hospitable house in which
they now all found themselves, there were there Sir John and Lady Blake;
Miss Forsyth--who, alone of the company, had dressed herself with a
certain old-fashioned magnificence; Sir Jacques, who had just come into
the room after taking Rose and her mother up to Jervis's room; and
lastly good old Anna Bauer, who sat a little apart by herself, staring
with a strange, rather wild look at the group of people standing before
her.
To Anna's excited mind, they did not look like a wedding party; they
looked, with the exception of Miss Forsyth, who wore a light grey silk
dress trimmed with white lace, like people waiting to start for a
funeral.
No one spoke, with the exception of Lady Blake, who occasionally
addressed a nervous question, in an undertone, to Mrs. Robey.
At last there came the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Mr.
Robey went out, rather hurriedly, and his wife exclaimed, "I think that
must be the Dean. My husband is taking him upstairs----" And then she
waited a moment, and glanced anxiously at her brother-in-law, Sir
Jacques. It was strange how even she, who had never particularly liked
Sir Jacques, looked to him for guidance to-day.
In answer to that look he moved forward a little, and made a queer
little sound, as if clearing his throat. Then, very deliberately, he
addressed the people before him.
"Before we go upstairs," he began, "I want to say something to you all.
I cannot help noticing that you all look very sad. Now of course I don't
ask you to try and look gay during the coming half-hour, but I do
earnestly beg of you to try and feel happy. Above all--" and he looked
directly at Lady Blake as he spoke--"above all," he repeated, "I must
beg of you very earnestly indeed to allow yourselves no show of emotion.
We not only hope, but we confidently expect, that our young friends are
beginning to-day what will be an exceptionally happy, and--and----" he
waited for a moment, then apparently found the word he wanted--"an
exceptionally harmonious married life. I base that view of what we all
believe, not on any exaggerated notion of what life generally brings to
the average married couple, but on the knowledge we possess of both
these young people's characters. Nothing can take away from Jervis Blake
his splendid past, and we may reasonably believe that he is going to
have with this sweet, brave young woman, who loves him so well, a
contented future."
Again Sir Jacques paused, and then not less earnestly he continued: "I
want Jervis Blake to look back on to-day as on a happy and hallowed day.
If anyone here feels that they will not be able to command themselves,
then I beg him or her most strongly to stay away."
He turned and opened the door behind him, and as he did so, his
sister-in-law heard him mutter to himself: "Of course at the great
majority of weddings if the people present knew what was going to come
afterwards, they would do nothing but cry. But this is not that sort of
wedding, thank God!"
Sir Jacques and old Anna came last up the staircase leading to Jervis
Blake's room. He and the old German woman were on very friendly terms.
Before the War Sir Jacques had been in constant correspondence with two
eminent German surgeons, and as a young man he had spent a year of study
in Vienna. He now addressed a few cheerful, heartening remarks in German
to Rose's old nurse, winding up rather peremptorily with the words:
"There must be no tears. There is here only matter for rejoicing." And
Anna, in a submissive whisper, had answered, "Ja! Ja!"
And then, as she walked last into the room, Anna uttered a guttural
expression of delighted surprise, for it was as if every hothouse flower
in Witanbury had been gathered to do honour to the white-clad, veiled
figure who now stood, with downcast eyes, by the bridegroom's bedside.
The flowers were Mr. Robey's gift. He had gone out quite early that
morning and had pressed all those of his acquaintances who had
greenhouses, as well as the flower shops in Witanbury, under
contribution; and the delicate, bright colouring with which the room was
now filled gave a festive, welcoming air to this bridal chamber.
Rose looked up, and as her eyes met the loving, agitated glance of her
nurse, she felt a sudden thrill of warm gratitude to good old Anna, for
Jervis had whispered, "How lovely you look, darling! Somehow I thought
you would wear an everyday dress--but this is much, much nicer!"
Those present followed the order of the marriage service with very
varying emotions, and never had the Dean delivered the familiar, awesome
words with more feeling and more grace of diction.
But the only two people in that room whose breasts were stirred to
really happy memories were Mr. and Mrs. Robey. They, standing together a
little in the background, almost unconsciously clasped each other's
hands.
Across the mind of Sir John Blake there flashed a vivid memory of his
own wedding day. The marriage had been celebrated in the cantonment
church of an up-country station, where, after a long, wearying
engagement, and a good deal of what he had even then called
"shilly-shallying," his betrothed had come out from England to marry
him. He remembered, in a queer jumble of retrospective gratitude and
impatience, how certain of the wives of his brother officers had
decorated the little plain church; and the mingled scents of the flowers
now massed about him recalled that of the orange blossoms and the
tuberoses at his own wedding.
But real as that long-vanished scene still was to Jervis's father, what
he now remembered best of all the emotions which had filled his heart as
he had stood waiting at the chancel steps for his pretty, nervous bride
were the good resolutions he had made--made and so soon broken....
As for Sir Jacques, he had never been to a wedding since he had been
last forced to do so as a boy by his determined mother. The refusal of
all marriage invitations was an eccentricity which friends and patients
easily pardoned to the successful and popular surgeon, and so the
present ceremony had the curious interest of complete novelty. He had
meant to read over the service to see what part he himself had to play,
but the morning had slipped away and he had not had time.
Jervis, in answer to perhaps the most solemn and awful question ever put
to man, had just answered fervently "I will," and Rose's response had
also been uttered very clearly, when suddenly someone gave Sir Jacques a
little prod, and the Dean, with the words, "Who giveth this woman to be
married to this man?" made him a quiet sign.
Sir Jacques came forward, and in answer, said "_I_ do," in a loud tone.
And then he saw the Dean take Jervis's right hand and place it in Rose's
left, and utter the solemn words with which even he was acquainted.
"I, Jervis, take thee, Rose, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold
from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in
sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part,
according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."
A series of tremendous promises to make and to keep! But for the moment
cynicism had fallen away from Sir Jacques's heart, and somehow he felt
sure that, at any rate in this case, those tremendous promises would be
kept.
He had been afraid that the Dean would make an address, or at the least
would say a few words that would reduce some of the tiny congregation to
tears. But Dr. Haworth was too wise for that, and perhaps he knew that
nothing he could say could improve on the _Beati omnes_.
And it was then, towards the close of that wedding ceremony, that Sir
Jacques suddenly made up his mind what should be the words graven inside
what he intended should be his wedding gift to Rose Blake--that gift was
a fine old-fashioned ruby ring, the only one of his mother's jewels he
possessed, and the words he then chose in his own mind were those of the
Psalmist, "O well is thee, and happy shalt thou be."