THE old soldier and his children had hardly left the vicinity of our
young friends when Calhoun came to them with the glad news that Croly
had so far recovered as to be able to speak naturally and recognize his
friends, that his parents had been told of his danger and his rescue,
and were now with him, weeping over his sufferings, rejoicing that he
had been spared to them, and full of gratitude to Dr. Conly for his
long-continued and untiring efforts for his resuscitation.
“I am proud of my brother and don’t believe there is a better physician
in the United States,” concluded Calhoun, his eyes shining. “But,
ladies and little folks, I just remember that Cousin Elsie charged me
to tell you that dinner will be on the table in about ten or fifteen
minutes.”
“Oh, that’s good news, Cousin Cal!” exclaimed Rosie, “for I’m pow’ful
hungry, as the darkies say. There’s nothing like sea-air to give one an
appetite.” And with that they all started for the house.
Arthur was longing to be with Marian, but at the urgent request of the
elder Mr. Croly and his wife, consented to stay with their son, who had
been carried to his uncle’s cottage, through the rest of that day and
the following night.
Then assuring them that Will had almost entirely recovered and there
was no longer the slightest need of his services, he was beginning
to bid them good-morning when Mr. Croly, laying a detaining hand on
his arm, poured out earnest thanks for the service he had done them
in saving the life of their only and well-beloved son, and delicately
asked what was his charge for his services, hinting that both he and
his wife thought it should be a heavy one.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Arthur, “I make no charge whatever for so trifling
a service to one whom I had learned to love almost as a brother. I
am more than repaid by his spared life—the blessing of God upon my
efforts,” and with a pleasant good-morning he hurried away.
He met the family at the breakfast table and was received with joyful
greetings. An hour later he and Marian sought the beach together. It
seemed a long time that they had been kept apart, and they greatly
enjoyed being again alone together for a time.
When the mail was brought to the house Walter, as usual, came running
down to them with their share—one letter for Marian and several for
the doctor.
Glancing at his he noticed that one was without a postmark, and
somewhat curious to know whence it came, he opened that envelope
first. It proved to be from the elder Mr. Croly, and contained a note
and another paper. Arthur opened and read the note first. In it the
writer stated that he felt that he owed a debt of gratitude for the
spared life of his only and well-beloved child which he could never by
any possibility repay, and that the doctor who had been instrumental
in saving that life would confer a favor by accepting the inclosed
certificate of stock as a small token of the grateful affection of Will
Croly’s parents and of the dear boy himself, who would be delighted
to have him do so, and feel that it was far from being an adequate
return for the inestimable service rendered. The writer added that
they would all feel sadly hurt should he refuse. All this Arthur read
with a pleasant glow of feeling. “They are far more grateful than most
people,” he said to himself as he opened the accompanying paper.
“Can I believe my eyes?” he exclaimed mentally as he hastily glanced
over it, then gave it a more careful examination.
The certificate was for stock to the amount of one hundred thousand
dollars yielding six per cent; there could be no mistake, and he felt
that he had suddenly become a rich man.
But at that instant a low sob from Marian caught his ear, and instantly
everything was forgotten but that she was in trouble.
“My darling, what is it?” he asked, putting an arm about her and
drawing her closer to him.
“Oh, I am so frightened!” she said with quivering lips. “Read this
letter from Sandy.”
He did so at once. The boy wrote warning Marian that their father had
in some way learned that Captain Raymond had shown himself a friend to
her, so suspected that she had gone to him for protection, had found
out the captain’s address, and started east with the probable intention
of hunting her up and carrying her back to Utah with him.
“Oh, what can I do? Can you protect me from him?” asked Marian, as Dr.
Conly refolded the letter and drew her closer into his arms.
“He shall never take you from me,” he returned in determined tones and
holding her close to his heart. “I think the surest thing will be for
us to marry at once, if you are willing. O my darling, you are not
afraid to trust me?”
“No, no, indeed!” she exclaimed, adding, “if you are willing to take me
just as I am, only half educated and——”
“More, much more than willing,” he replied. “But there is no time to be
lost. Let us go up at once to the house and consult with the friends
there.”
“Yes; especially Cousin Elsie, and my best and kindest of friends, dear
old Cousin Ronald.”
They were glad to find all the family in, and quickly told them their
story; Arthur concluding with, “I think the best thing we can do is
to marry at once, so that I shall have a prior right to that of Mr.
McAlpine, and can prevent him from carrying her away from us.”
“I agree with you, sir,” said Mr. Lilburn, “and should think it well
for you to carry her away to some place unknown to the unnatural man,
till he wearies of his search and goes back to Mormon-land.”
“Then, if the plan is approved by my wife and others, I will go at
once for the _Dolphin_, and we will sail or steam away to-night with
the bride and groom,” said the captain. “We can visit Mount Desert and
whatever other points we please along the whole coast between this and
our city, making occasional calls here if we like, and go home when we
wish and are satisfied that the danger there is over.”
“Oh, by all means let us go!” said Violet: “nothing could be more
delightful.”
“And Herbert and I will drive in at once for a minister to perform
the ceremony,” said Harold, taking up his hat. “Have you any choice,
Marian?”
“I know none of them but the one to whose preaching the rest of you
have been listening, and who kindly called to see me the other day,”
she replied with a blush.
“Then we will go for him,” returned Harold. “But stay a little,
Harold,” said his mother; “dinner is just ready, and you will have time
enough afterward.”
The summons to the table came at, that moment and all answered it
promptly.
At the conclusion of the meal the captain, Harold, and Herbert drove
into the city—the first to see that all was right with the yacht and
order it brought that afternoon to the landing nearest the house, the
other two in search of a minister to perform the ceremony that was to
unite Marian and the doctor for life.
“Now,” said Rosie as soon as they were gone, “we must help the bride
dress. Come, mamma and Violet, your help will be needed, for it is well
known and freely acknowledged that you both have excellent taste.”
“Ah,” sighed Cousin Ronald, “I am sorry there is no time for
furnishing a handsomer trousseau. But fortunately it can be done
afterward.”
“No, no, dear Cousin Ronald, I have plenty of fine clothes,” said
Marian. “You have been so, so good to me.”
At that Dr. Conly, remembering the munificent fee he had received that
morning, smiled quietly to himself; but not a word did he say to any
one about it. He felt that words could not express his appreciation
of Mr. Croly’s generosity to himself and others instrumental in the
saving of his son’s life; for he had learned from Harold that the men
in the boat that picked up the nearly drowned young man had each been
liberally rewarded, the one who drew him from the water especially so.
Calling his Cousin Elsie aside, “Can we have any invited guests, do you
think?” he asked with a humorous smile.
“Guests?” she repeated, with a look of surprise. “I hardly know where
to find them in time for so hastily gotten up a ceremony.”
“The Crolys are near at hand,” he suggested.
“Oh, yes! invite them if you wish to,” she returned with an amused
laugh. “But we cannot get up anything like a proper wedding-feast on so
short a notice.”
“Oh, I dare say they will make due allowance for haste, and expect
little entertainment besides a good look at the bride,” he said
laughingly.
“Then I will send them a note of invitation. Also one to the younger
Mr. and Mrs. Croly and to our poor friend Will.”
“Cousin,” he said with a joyous look, “I have something for your ear
alone; other relatives and friends shall know of it by and by.” Then he
read her Mr. Croly’s note and showed its inclosure.
“Oh, Art, I am so glad, so very glad!” she said, her eyes full of happy
tears. “Yes, my dear fellow, give them all the warmest of invitations,
though I hardly think Will or his father or mother will come; but they
shall have the warmest of welcomes if they do.”
“Is not that your place as mistress of the house, Cousin Elsie?” he
asked.
“Oh, yes!” she replied. “I will write a note at once and send it by one
of the servants.”
“And, if you please, I will send a note of thanks along with it. I will
write it at once.”
“I will send it with pleasure,” she said. “Oh, Cousin Arthur, I am so
glad for you! It is not an extravagant gift for a man of Mr. Croly’s
means—and I think you have fairly earned it—but it must make you quite
rich.”
“It does indeed,” he said in joyous tones, “and will put it in my
power to make the dear girl who is trusting her happiness to me very
comfortable. It will also enable me to help those of my brothers and
sisters who may need aid.”
“You have always been a generous fellow,” she said, giving him a look
full of appreciation and affection, “but I think if they do all they
can to help themselves they will need very little assistance from you.
But,” she added with a smile, “we have each a great deal to do in a
little time and must not hinder each other.”
The delegation sent to the city was very successful. The young men
returned early in the afternoon, bringing the minister of Marian’s
choice, and shortly after the captain came in from his yacht, which lay
at anchor at no great distance from the shore.
Neither Will Croly nor his mother ventured out, but his father came,
bringing his sister-in-law with him.
Marian looked very sweet and lovely in white tarletan and
orange-blossoms brought by Harold from the city; and Arthur, still
rather youthful in appearance, seemed a not unsuitable bridegroom for
her. Mary Keith, Rosie, and Lulu, Calhoun, Harold, and Herbert acted
the parts of bridesmaids and groomsmen.
The ceremony was short and followed by some simple
refreshments—several kinds of cake, ice-cream, and lemonade.
Trunks had been packed and sent aboard the yacht, and before sundown
the passengers followed; the bride and groom, Calhoun and Mary, and
the captain with his entire family. It was not at all a sad good-by to
either those who went or those who stayed behind, for it was expected
that the _Dolphin_ would touch frequently at that port, so that her
passengers could pay a visit to the friends on shore, often on their
return taking some of them for a short distance out to sea.
The evening air from the sea was very cool, and for Marian’s sake—she
being as yet not far from on the invalid list—the older people confined
themselves most of the time to the saloon. But Lulu, wrapping a shawl
about her shoulders, went out upon the deck, where she seated herself
and gazed silently out upon the sea.
They were steaming northward scarcely out of sight of the shore. It was
a beautiful night, the moon shining brightly in the dark blue of the
heavens, flecked here and there with soft, fleecy, white clouds, and
the sea beneath looking like molten silver where her rays touched it.
Lulu enjoyed the sight and the delicious breeze that was blowing
softly shoreward, yet her thoughts were on other matters and she was
unusually silent and still. She had no one to talk to, but was very apt
when alone at such time and place to sing softly to herself.
She had not moved for some minutes when she felt a hand laid gently on
each shoulder, while her father’s voice asked in affectionate tones,
“What is my little girl thinking of?” He bent down over her as he spoke
and she looked up into his face.
“Oh, I’m so glad you have come, papa!” she said.
“Are you, daughter?” he returned, coming around, seating himself by her
side, and putting an arm about her waist. “I don’t know when I have
seen you so perfectly quiet and still. A penny for your thoughts.”
“They’re not worth a penny, papa,” she said laughingly, laying her head
on his shoulder and looking up lovingly into his eyes. “I’m afraid they
were rather foolish, but you can have them for nothing if you want
them. You know I belong to you—I’m so glad I do—so you have a right to
my thoughts; haven’t you?”
“We will leave that question to be considered at another time,” he
returned laughingly, hugging her up closer and giving her a kiss; “but
since you are willing, you may tell me what was the occasion of so much
grave thought in this little careless head,” stroking her hair and
repeating his caress.
“Well, then, papa, it was mostly about Marian I was thinking, and that
I should not like to be in her place. I like Cousin Arthur ever so
much for a doctor, but to have to leave my dear father and go to live
with him instead would be just dreadful. But then her father can’t be
one bit like mine, and I think that if I were his daughter I’d be glad
enough to leave him for Dr. Conly.”
“And I think no one could reasonably blame you if you were; especially
if, as in Marian’s case, it was to escape being forced into a marriage
with one who was far from agreeable to you and had already several
wives—which is a very wicked thing, forbidden by the law of both God
and man. But, situated as you are, it would, I think, be a very silly
thing for you to do as Marian has done, even were you of her age, and
you are really some three or four years younger.”
“And that’s a very great difference,” remarked Lulu soberly, “and I’m
glad of it, because I do so like to be my father’s own little girl. And
you won’t ever make me get married if I don’t want to, will you, papa?”
“No, daughter, certainly not. I shall be only too glad to keep
you—have you always and altogether my own.”
“It’s so good of you, you dear papa,” she said, nestling closer to him.
“I feel almost sure I shall never love any other man half so well as I
do you.”
“That is pleasant news to me,” he said, with a smile down into the
large, dark eyes lifted to his.