The train, which was slightly delayed, reached Ridgeville at two o'clock
the following morning. With his usual thoughtfulness Cavanaugh had
ordered a street-cab to be on hand to take the couple to their home, and
it was found waiting in the care of a half-asleep negro.
"Here is the key to the house," Cavanaugh said, as he handed it in to
them after they were seated in the ramshackle little vehicle. "I'd go on
with you and help you light up, but I'm anxious to see how my old lady
is. She's sick abed, you know, and will be worrying about the train
being late."
The negro driver on the seat outside started his horse, and the cab
trundled through the darkness of the unlighted streets. They were now
wholly alone for the first time since their marriage, and it seemed
quite natural to him to put his arm around her and draw her head to his
shoulder. Another moment and he had kissed her.
"I wonder," he asked, almost beneath his breath, that the driver might
not hear--"I wonder if you are happy?"
She started to speak, but decided not to do so. Her reply consisted of a
voluntary lifting of her hand to his neck, the raising of her lips to
his, after which she nestled back on his shoulder and was silent.
He also started to speak, but there was nothing to say, and with her
hand in one of his they sat still and silent till the cab stopped at the
gate of the cottage. The driver opened the door and John helped Tilly
out. He tipped the man, and he drove away as they entered the gate.
John opened the door and lighted the gas in the diminutive hall. Tilly
had never seen a gas-jet before, and he explained its use, and the
danger of leaving it open when unlighted. From the little hall they went
into the parlor, then into the dining-room and kitchen, and thence to
the bedroom.
"Sam's wife has swept and cleaned the whole house," John said,
appreciatively. "It is as clean as a new pin."
"I knew some good housekeeper had been over it," Tilly said, giving free
vent to her delight over everything. "I didn't dream, from what you
said, that it would be as nice as this," she declared. "Why, it is
simply wonderful! But you say you think Mrs. Cavanaugh looked after it.
Then--then you don't think that your mother--" She hesitated, and with a
faint shadow in her face she broke off and stood looking at the floor.
"No." There was a companion shadow on his face as he answered, rather
lamely, she thought. "She'd never think of it--even if--if she was
expecting us."
"Not expecting us?" Tilly said, gropingly. "Then she doesn't know. You
didn't write to her that we were to be married?"
"No"--John's glance wavered as he slowly released the word--"I didn't
write her. I didn't care whether she knew it or not."
"I think I understand now," Tilly said to herself. "They have had some
sort of family disagreement and are not on speaking terms."
"Never mind," she said, aloud, seeing a cloud on his face. "All that
will come out right. In time I'll win her love--you see if I don't."
His frown deepened, but he said nothing. Their bags had been left in
the little hall, and he went to get them. When he returned she was
standing before the wide mirror of the new-fashioned bureau. She had
taken off her hat and the elevated gas-jet on the wall threw a blaze of
light into her beautiful hair. He put down the bags and stood gazing at
her with eyes full of timid reverence and worship.
"Poor, dear little Tilly!" he said, almost huskily. "You look so lonely,
here just with me like this, away from your home and friends. I am not
worthy of you, little girl--no man is. I feel that. I know it down deep
inside of me. Until I met you I never knew what a good, pure girl was
like. Oh, you are so different from all the women I've ever known.
Somehow you seem to have dropped down from the skies."
She didn't fully understand him. How could she? And yet his look and
tone went straight to her heart. She stood staring at him for a moment
and then she advanced to him. She put her hands on his shoulders and
looked up into his eyes.
"You say I'm different from other girls, John. Well, you are different
from all other men. Oh, it is so very sweet of you--your silly fear that
you can't make me happy--your continual reference to that absurdity.
Why, John, I am so happy that I can't express it. No one else could have
made me so. I am the luckiest girl in the world."
Her throbbing lips invited it, and he bent down and kissed them. He drew
her into his arms. She felt his great breast quiver and heard him sigh.
Not yet was she comprehending him--not yet was he quite able to
comprehend himself.