FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.
Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon,’ says the old proverb; and
the sun shone bravely for Ruth Adrian’s wedding-day.
It poured in chastened splendour through the stained-glass windows of
the quiet church, and fell upon Ruth Adrian as she knelt at the altar,
her head bowed, and her sweet eyes filled with tears of happiness and
love.
There were no omen-readers there to croak and prophesy, or they would
have noticed how strangely this strange stream of sunshine divided
bride and bridegroom. It caught the window at an angle which threw it
on half the church only, leaving the other half untouched. While Ruth
was bathed in its bright warm beams, Marston stood always wrapped in
the shadow.
As the solemn words of the service fell from the lips of the clergyman,
the voice woke in the bridegroom’s heart the memory of the sermon that
had seemed like a warning and a threat to him on the day the banns were
first published.
The solemn charge, ‘I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at
the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be
disclosed,’ caused him to wince as the eyes of the clergyman met his.
Was he always to be haunted like this? Could he never shake off this
strange new consciousness that had come upon him?
He looked at Ruth almost sorrowfully once as the thought flashed upon
him that perhaps in the far-off future she might look back and curse
the day that made her his.
But she answered his glance with a sweet smile, and it seemed as though
a new heaven opened for him—a heaven in which he might forget the past
and be at rest.
Oh, how fervently he hoped that here he had reached the outskirts of a
new world! He would not abuse the trust confided to him. From this
moment no evil thought should sully his mind.
If only the dead past would bury its dead—if only those pale ghosts
that haunted him would fade in the bright sunlight of this new life—he
would work as man had never worked yet to prove that he had bitterly
and sincerely repented of the evil he had done.
‘I, Ruth, take thee, Edward, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold
from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in
sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us
part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my
troth.’
The prize was won, the golden badge of ownership glistened on the
trembling hand of the beautiful bride, and the voice of the Church
called down God’s blessing on the union.
Ruth shed just one tear; but it was a tear of happiness—a tear coming
from a heart overflowing with love and gratitude. And as it fell upon
the hand that lay trembling in Marston’s, he stooped and kissed it
away. Ah, me! if every tear that those sweet eyes are to shed could
only be as lightly banished!
Of course Mrs. Adrian cried; and Gertie, who was brave in her beautiful
new dress for the occasion, and who was very much overawed by the
proceedings, cried a little, too. She didn’t know why. She saw Mrs.
Adrian weep, and she saw Ruth’s lips tremble, and, being of a
sympathetic nature and easily moved, she cried just to keep them
company, though all the time she was thinking how beautiful and how
good Ruth was, and wishing Lion could have been there to see what had
come of the Little Queer Street lessons after all.
Lion was not forgotten in the general joy. He was the first to meet the
bridal party on their return. He came to the door with a huge white
satin bow on, and he wagged his tail in a congratulatory and highly
complimentary manner. But he made a sad mess of it after all, for he
leaped upon Gertie and put his great paws on her beautiful dress,
whereupon he was severely lectured, and afterwards kissed and hugged,
and promised a piece of wedding-cake if he was good.
Mr. and Mrs. Marston were going to Paris to spend their honeymoon, and
they were going down to Dover by an afternoon train. Ruth had named
Paris as the place she would like to see, and of course she had chosen
the short sea route.
All had been arranged for the new housekeeping. Mr. Adrian’s effects
would be sold off during their absence, and then the old couple would
move into the new house, and greet the young couple there on their
return.
Marston would have given anything rather than have been compelled to
travel that route on his wedding-day. But he had left the choice to
Ruth, and he would not oppose her first wish. He would not allow his
past to step in and create difficulties already.
As the train rushed down to the sea with them, the scene of the gold
robbery came back vividly to his mind.
Something on the journey brought it to Ruth’s mind, and she spoke of it
to Marston. Little did she dream how every word stabbed her husband
like a knife.
She spoke first of the marvellous way in which the crime had been
effected, for she had read the graphic newspaper accounts. She wondered
what the thieves would do with so large a sum, and how they had managed
to escape detection.
‘But it will bring them no good!’ she said. ‘I always pity the men who
commit these terrible crimes. What peace can they know—what happiness
have they ever known?’
Marston’s face flushed, and he complained of the heat, and lowered the
window.
As he did so the train was stopping at a station.
The afternoon papers were out, and the contents sheets were posted
against the bookstalls.
One of the lines caught Marston’s eye, and he closed the window as
though he had been shot, and sat back in the carriage trembling
violently.
This was the line:—‘_The great Gold Robbery—A Clue to the Thieves_,’