As the trio entered the room Judy jumped from the sofa vivaciously. The Sheriff followed with an agility wonderful in a man of his age; he bade them all welcome with a compelling heartiness. Judy was full of animation; indeed she out-did herself to a degree which made Joy raise her eyebrows. Joy was a sympathetic soul, and unconsciously adapted herself to her Aunt's supra-vivacity.
To Colonel Ogilvie, less enthusiastic by nature and concern, it appeared that she was as he put it in his own mind "playing up to the old girl." He seemed to realise that the Sheriff was ardent in his intentions; and, with the calm, business-like aptitude of a brother-in-law to a not-young lady, had already made up his mind to give his consent.
Judy flew to Joy and kissed her fervently. The kisses were returned with equal warmth, and the two women rocked in each other's arms, to the envy, if delight, of certain of the onlookers viewing the circumstance from different standpoints. Judy took her niece to the now-vacated sofa, and an animated whispering began between them. Joy's attention was, however, distracted; her senses had different objectives. Her touch was to Judy sitting beside her and holding her close in a loving embrace; her ears were to her father who was talking to the Sheriff. But her eyes were all with her husband, devouring him. There came a timid knock at the door, and in answer to the Sheriff's "Come in," it was partly opened. The voice of the landlady was heard: "May I speak with ye a moment, Sheriff?" He went over to the door, and a whispered colloquy ensued, all his guests turning their eyes away and endeavouring in that way, as usual, to seem not to be listening. Then the Sheriff, having closed the door, said:
"Our good hostess tells me that there will be a full half hour of waiting before we can breakfast, if she is to have proper time to do justice to the food which she wishes to place before us. So I must ask pardon of you all."
"Capital! Capital!" said Colonel Ogilvie, "that half hour is just what we want. Mr. Sheriff, we have a little ceremony to go through before we breakfast. The fact is we are going to have an Irregular Marriage. If you are able to take part in such a thing I hope you will assist us." Joy rose up and stood beside Athlyne. The Sheriff answered:
"Be quite easy on that point, sir. I am not in my own shrieval district, and so, even if such were contra to my duties at home, I am free to act as an individual elsewhere. But who are the contracting parties? You are married already; so too are your daughter and my Lord Athlyne. Indeed it looks, Miss Hayes, as if you and I are the only available parties left. But I fear such great happiness is not for me; though I would give anything in the wide world to win it!" He bowed to her gallantly and took her hand. She looked quite embarrassed—though not distressed, and giggled like a schoolgirl.
"Indeed, Mr. Sheriff!" she said, "this is very sudden. Affairs of the heart seem to move quickly in this delightful country!" As she spoke she looked at Joy and Athlyne who happened to be at the moment standing hand in hand. Joy came over and sat beside her and kissed her. Athlyne, in obedience to a look from his wife, kissed her too. Then the Colonel gallantly followed suit. There was only the Sheriff left, and he, after a pause, took advantage of the occasion and kissed her also. Then to relieve her manifest embarrassment he spoke out:
"I fear I have diverted your purpose, Colonel Ogilvie. I am not sorry for it"—this with a look at Judy which made her blush afresh "but I apologize. I take it that you were alluding to something in which I am to have a less prominent part than I have suggested."
"The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and my daughter." As he spoke Athlyne went to a side table whereon were spread the Sheriff's writing materials. He took a sheet of paper and began to write. Colonel Ogilvie went on:
"We have come to the conclusion that, though the act of marriage which has already taken place between these two young people is in your view lawful and complete, it may be well to go through the ceremony in a more formal manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls in law; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my lord that it would be well not to allow any loophole for after attack. Therefore in your presence—if you will be so good," the Sheriff bowed, "they shall again pledge their mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing; and we shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new marriage is complete—and irrefragable as I understand from what you said awhile ago it will be—we shall be ready for breakfast. It will be more than perhaps you expected when you so kindly asked us to be your guests: a wedding breakfast!"
Judy whispered to her niece.
"Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you properly. I have brought a dress with me."
"What dress dear?" she asked.
"The tweed tailor-made."
"But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is more suitable for my wedding."
"That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you shall not wear white. You are already a married lady; this is only a re-marriage." A beautiful blush swept over Joy's face as she looked at her husband writing away as hard as his pen could move.
"I shall wear white to-day!" she said in the same whisper, and stood up.
Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. It stopped at the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle of arrival. Voices raised to a high pitch were heard outside. Various comments were heard in the room.
"That's mother!"
"My wife!"
"Sally!"
"Why Aunt Judy that's the voice of Mrs. O'Brien!"
"My Foster-mother!"
The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew first to her husband's arms; and then, after a quick embrace, seemed to close round Joy and obliterate her. A similar eclipse took place with regard to Athlyne; for Mrs. O'Brien dashed into the room and calling out as though invoking the powers of earth and heaven: "Me bhoy! me bhoy!" fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, and yielded himself to her embrace as freely as though he had been a child again.
"Joy dear," said Mrs. Ogilvie "I hope you are all right. After your father and then Judy had gone, I was so anxious about you, that I got the north mail stopped and caught it at Penrith. Just as I was going to get ready for the journey Mrs. O'Brien came in. She had written to me in London that she would like to pay her respects, and I had said we were going on to Ambleside but would be glad if she would come and see us there and spend a few days with us." Mrs. O'Brien who was all ears, here cut into the conversation:
"Aye, an Miss Joy acushla,—my service to ye miss!—she sent me postal ordhers to cover me railway fare an me expinces. Oh! the kind heart iv her!"
She had by now released Athlyne and stood back from him pointing at him as she spoke:
"An comin' here through yer ladyship's goodness who do I find but me beautiful bhoy. Luk at him! Luk at him! Luk at him!" Her voice rose in crescendo at each repetition, "The finest, dearest, sweetest, bonniest child that ever a woman tuk to her breast. An now luk at him well. The finest, up-standinest, handsomest, dearest, lovinest man that the whole wurrld houlds. That doesn't forget his ould fosther mother an him an Earrll, wid castles iv his own, an medals on to him an Victory Crasses. An it's a gineral he ought to be. Luk at him, God bless him!" She turned to one after another of the party in turn as though inviting their admiration. Joy came and, putting her arms round the old woman's neck, hugged and kissed her. When she got free, Mrs. O'Brien said to Athlyne:
"An phwat are ye doin' here me darlin' acushla me lord—av I may make so bould as t' ask ye? How did ye come here; and phwat brung ye that yer ould nurse might have her eyes made glad wid sight iv ye?"
"I am here, my dear, because I am married to Joy Ogilvie, and we are going to be married again!"
Then the storm of comment broke, all the women speaking at once and in high voices suitable to a momentous occasion:
"What, what?" said Mrs. Ogilvie. "Married to my daughter! Colonel Ogilvie, how is it that I was not informed of this coming event?"
"Faith, my dear I don't know" he answered "I never knew it—and—and I believe they didn't know it themselves … till the moment before it was done." He added the last part of the sentence in deference to the Sheriff's direction as to 'intention.' Fortunately the Sheriff had not heard his remark.
"Do explain yourself, Lucius. I am all anxiety."
"My dear, yesterday Joy made an irregular marriage with Lord Athlyne!"
"Good God!" The exclamation gave an indication of the social value of "irregular" marriage to persons unacquainted with Scottish law. Her husband saw that she was pained and tried to reassure her:
"You need not distress yourself, my dear. It is all right. 'Irregular' is only a name for a particular form of marriage in this Country. It is equally legal with any other marriage."
"But who is Lord Athlyne, and where is he? That is the name of the man who Mrs. O'Brien told Joy was the only man good enough for her."
"Lord Athlyne" said Colonel Ogilvie "at present our son-in-law, in none other than Mr. Richard Hardy with whom you shook hands just now!"
"Lucius, I am all amazed! There seems to be a sort of network of mystery all round us. But one thing: if Joy was married yesterday how on earth can she be going to be married to-day?"
"To avoid the possibility of legal complications later on! It is all right, my dear. You may take it from me that there is no cause for concern! But there were certain things, usually attended to beforehand, which on this occasion—owing to ignorance and hurry and unpremeditation—were not attended to. In order to prevent the possibility of anything going wrong by any quibble, they are to be married again just now."
"Where? when?"
"Here, in this room!"
"But where's the clergyman; where is the license?"
"There is neither. This is a Scottish marriage! Later on we can have a regular church marriage with a bishop if you wish or an archbishop; in a church or a room or a Cathedral—just as you prefer," Mrs. Ogilvie perceptibly stiffened as he spoke. Then she said, with what she thought was dignified gravity, which seemed to others like frigid acidity:
"Do I understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that you are a consenting party to another "irregular'"—she quivered as she said the word—"marriage? And that my daughter is to be made a laughing stock amongst all our acquaintances by three different marriages?"
"That is so, my dear. It is for Joy's good!"
"Her good? Fiddlesticks! But in that case I have nothing more to say!" Some of her wrath seemed to be turned on both Athlyne and Joy; for she did not say a single word to either of them. She simply relapsed into stony silence.
Mrs. O'Brien's reception of the news afforded what might be termed the "comic relief" of the strained situation. She raised her hands, as though in protest to heaven for allowing such a thing, and emitted a loud wail such as a "keener" raises at an Irish wake. Then she burst into voluble speech:
"Oh wirrasthrue me darlin' bhoy, is it a haythen Turk y' are becomin', to take another wife whin ye've got one already only a day ould. An such a wan more betoken—the beautifullest darlinest young cratur what iver I seen! Her that I picked out long ago as the only wan that ye was good enough for. Shure, couldn't ye rist content wid Miss Joy, me darlin'? It's lookin' forward I was to nursin' her childher, as I nursed yerself me lord darlin', her childher, an yours! An' now it's another woman steppin' in betune ye; an' maybe there'll be no childher at all, at all. Wirrasthrue!"
"But look here, Nanny," said Athlyne with some impatience. "Can't you see that you're all wrong. It is to Joy that I am going to marry again! There's no other woman coming in between us. 'Tis only the dear girl herself!"
"Ah, that's all very well, me lord darlin'; but which iv them is to be the mother? Faix but I'll go an ax her Ladyship this minit!" And go she did, to Athlyne's consternation and Joy's embarrassment. All in a hurry she started up and went over to the sofa where Joy sat, and with a bob curtesy said to her:
"Me lady, mayn't I have the nursin' av yer childher, the way I had their father before them? Though, be the same token, it's not the same nursin' I can give thim, wid me bein' ould an' rhun dhry!" Joy felt that the only thing to do was to postpone the difficulty to a more convenient season, when there should not be so many eyes—some of them strange ones—on her. To do this as kindly and as brightly as she could, she said:
"But dear Mrs. O'Brien, isn't it a little soon to think—or at any rate to speak—of such things?"
"Wasn't ye married yisterday?" interrupted the old woman. But looking at her lady's cheeks she went on in a different tone:
"But me darlin'—Lady, it's over bould an' too contagious for me to mintion such things, as yit. But I'll take, if I may, a more saysonable opportunity to ask ye to patthernise me. Some time whin ye're more established as a wife thin ye are now!"
"Indeed" said Joy kindly. "I shall only be too happy to have you near me. And if I—if we are ever blessed with a little son I hope you will try to teach him to be as like his" she stopped, blushing, but after a short pause went on "as like my dear husband as ever you can!" There was a break in her voice which moved the old woman strongly. She lifted the slim fine young hand to her withered lips and kissed it fervently.
"Glory be to God! me Lady, but it's the proud woman I'll be to keep and guard the young Earrll. An' I'll give my life for him if needs be!"
"Come now!" said the Sheriff who had been speaking with Colonel Ogilvie and Athlyne, and who had read over the paper written by the latter. "Come now all you good people! All sit round the room except you two principals to this solemn contract. You two stand before me and read over the paper. You, my Lord, read it first; and then you too, my Lady, do the same!" They sat round as they wished. Joy and Athlyne stood up before the Sheriff, who was also standing. Instinctively they took hands, and Athlyne holding the paper in his left hand, read as follows:
"We Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Mowbray Hardy Fitzgerald, Earl of Athlyne, Viscount Roscommon and Baron Ceann-da-Shail and Joy Fitzgerald or Ogilvie late of Airlville in the State of Kentucky, United States of America, agree that we shall be and are united in the solemn bonds of matrimony according to the Law of Scotland and that we being of one mind as to the marriage, are and hereby declare ourselves man and wife.
Witness of above
We the undersigned hereby declare that we have in the presence of the above signatories and of each other seen the foregoing signatures appended to this deed by the signatories themselves in our presence and in the presence of each other.
Alexander Fenwick (Sheriff of Galloway).
Lucius Ogilvie (father of the bride).
Mary Hayes Ogilvie (mother of the bride).
Bedelia Ann O'Brien, widow (formerly nurse and foster mother to the bridegroom).
Judith Hayes (aunt of the bride)."
When the document was completed by the signatures the Sheriff, having first scanned it carefully, offered it to Colonel Ogilvie, who raising a protesting hand said:
"No, no, Mr. Sheriff! I think we should all prefer that it should be kept in your custody, if you will so oblige us."
"With the greatest pleasure" he said; and Athlyne and Joy having consented to the scheme he folded the document and put it into his pocket. Just then the landlady, having knocked and being bidden to enter, came into the room followed by several maids and men bearing dishes.
"And now to breakfast" he went on. "Will the Bride kindly sit on my right hand, with her Husband next her. Mrs. Ogilvie, will you honour me by sitting on my left, with Colonel Ogilvie to support you on the other side. Miss Hayes will you kindly sit on Lord Athlyne's right." "And Mrs. … Mrs. O'Brien," whispered Judy. He went on:
"Mrs. O'Brien will you sit on Colonel Ogilvie's left."
"'Deed an' I'll not!" said the Irishwoman sturdily.
"Do you mean" asked Colonel Ogilvie icily "that you do not care to sit next to me individually?"
"Faix an' I don't mane anything so foolish yer 'ann'r. Why should the likes o' me dar to object to the likes iv you? All I mane, sorr, is that an ould Biddy like me isn't fit to sit down alongside the quality—let alone an Earrll and his Laady whose unborn childher I'm to nurse. An', more betoken, on such an owdacious occasion—shure an I don't mane that but such a suspicious occasion."
"Mrs. O'Brien ma'am" said the Sheriff taking her hand "you're going, I hope to take your place at the table that all these good friends wish you to take."
"In troth no yer"—whispering to Joy what's a Sheriff called Miss Joy? Is he 'yer Majesty' or 'me lord' or 'yer ann'r' or what is he anyhow?" "I think he is 'yer honour'" said Joy. So Mrs. O'Brien continued: "Yer Ann'r. Don't ask me fur to sit down wid the quality where I don't belong. But let me give a hand to these nice girrls and byes to shling the hash. Shure it's a stewardess I am, an accustomed to shovin' the food."
"Nanny" said Athlyne kindly but in a strong voice "we all want you to sit at table with us to-day. And I hope you won't refuse us that pleasure."
"Certainly me darlin' lord!" she said instantly. "In coorse what plases ye!" The Master had spoken; she was content to obey without question. In the meantime Joy had been whispering to her mother who now spoke out:
"Mr. Sheriff, will you allow me to make a suggestion about the places at table?"
"With a thousand delights, madam. Pray make whatever disposition you think best. I am only too grateful for your help."
"Thank you, sir. Well, if you do not mind I should like my sister. Miss Hayes, placed next to you; then Colonel Ogilvie and myself. On the other side if you will place next to my son-in-law his old nurse, I am right sure that both will be pleased."
"Hear, hear!" said Athlyne. "Come along, Nanny, and sit next your boy! Joy and I shall be delighted to have you close to us. Won't you, darling." Joy's answer was quite satisfactory to him:
"Of course … Darling!" It was wonderful what a world of love she put into the utterance of those two syllables.
The breakfast was a great success, though but few of the party ate heartily. Neither Athlyne nor Joy did justice to the provender. They whispered a good deal and held hands surreptitiously under the table, and their eyes met constantly. The same want of appetite seemed to have affected both the Sheriff and Judy; but silence and a certain restraint and primness were their characteristics. Mrs. O'Brien, seated on the very edge of her chair, was too proud and too happy to eat. But she was storing up for future enjoyment fond memories of every incident, however trivial.
It was mid-day before any move was made. There were no speeches—in public, as all considered it would break the charm that was over the occasion if anything so overt took place. When all is understood, speech becomes almost banal. But there were lots of whisperings; whispers as soft in their tone as their matter was sweet. No one appeared to notice any one else at such moments; though be sure that there were words and tones and looks that were remembered later by the receivers, and looks and movements that were remembered by the others. Judy and the Sheriff had much to say to each other. Ample opportunity was given from the fact that the newly married pair found themselves occupied with each other almost exclusively. Occasionally, of course, Joy and the Sheriff conversed; but as a working rule he was quite content to devote himself to Judy who seemed quite able to hold up her end of the serious flirtation. When finally the party broke up, preparatory to setting out for the south, the Sheriff asked Colonel Ogilvie if it might be possible that he should join in travel with the party, as he wished to spend a few days in Ambleside—a place which he had not visited for many years. Colonel Ogilvie cordially acquiesced. He was pretty sure by now that the meeting of Judy and this new friend would end in a match, and he was glad to do anything which might result in the happiness of his sister-in-law of whom he was really fond. But it was not on this account only that he made him welcome. The reaction from his evil temper was on him. Conscience was awake and pricking into him the fact that he had behaved brutally. His mind did not yet agree in the justice of the verdict; but that would doubtless come later. He now wished to show to all that there was quite another side of his character. In this view he pressed that the Sheriff should be his guest. The other was about to object when he realised that by accepting he would be one of the household, and so much closer to Judy, and more and oftener in her society than would otherwise be possible. So he accepted gladly, and he and the Colonel soon became inseparable—except when Judy was speaking! In such case Colonel Ogilvie often felt himself rather left out in the cold. At the beginning of breakfast Athlyne had learned from Joy of the abandonment of the motor, and he had accordingly sent his father-in-law's chauffeur, with his pilot, to bring it back. They had to travel in a horse carriage; he could not drive two motors at once, and the pilot could not drive one. In due course the motor was retrieved, and having been made clean and taut by the "first-class mechanicien and driver" was ready for the road. Colonel Ogilvie's motor was also ready, and as the pilot could now be left to travel home by train so that the owner could sit by his chauffeur, there would be room for the new guest to sit between the two ladies in the tonneau. When he mentioned this arrangement, however, the Sheriff did not jump at it, but found difficulties in the way of incommoding the ladies. At last he said:
"I hope you will excuse me, Ogilvie, but I had already formed a little plan which I hoped with your sanction and that of your wife, to carry out. Before breakfast I—Miss Hayes and I had been talking of the old manner of posting. Her idea had, I think, been formed by seeing prints of breakdowns of carriages in run-away matches to Gretna Green, and I suggested … In fact I ventured to offer to drive her in old-fashioned postal style to Ambleside, and let her see what it was like. I have in my house at Galloway a fine old shay that my father and mother made their wedding trip in. It has always been kept in good trim, and it is all right for the journey. As Sheriff I have post-boys in my employ for great occasions and I have good horses of my own. So when J… Miss Hayes accepted my offer … of the journey, I wired off to have the trap sent down here. Indeed it should arrive within a very short time. I have also wired for relays of horses to be ready at Dumfries, Annan, Carlisle and Patterdale, so that when we start we should go without a hitch. My boys know the road, and four horses will spin us along in good style—even if we cannot keep up with your motor." So it was arranged that the pilot could occupy his old place with the chauffeur; and the Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie would travel in the tonneau, Darby and Joan fashion. This settlement of affairs had only been arrived at after considerable discussion. When her father had told Joy that she was to ride with her mother, she had spoken out at once—without arrangement with Athlyne or even consultation with him:
"Athlyne will drive me, and we can take Mrs. O'Brien with us. There is stacks of room in the tonneau, and we have no luggage. I am sure my husband would like to have her with us."
But when the arrangement was mentioned to the foster-mother she refused absolutely to obey any such order:
"What" she said "me go away in the coach wid the bride and groom! An ould corrn-crake like me wid the quality; an this none other than me own darlin' lord and Miss Joy that I'm going to nurse the childher iv her. No, my Lady, I'll do no such thing! Do ye think I'm goin' to shpoil shport when me darlin' does be drivin' wid his beautiful wife by him an' him kissin' her be the yard an' the mile an' the hour, an' huggin' her be the ton, as he ought to be doin', or he's not the man I've always tuk him for. Shure ma'am" this to Mrs. Ogilvie "this is their day an' their hour; an' iviry minit iv it is goold an dimons to them! I'm tellin' ye, I'd liefer put me eyes on Styx than do such a thing!" Mrs. Ogilvie, who recognised the excellence of her ideas, said:
"Then you must come with the Colonel and me. We've loads of room, and we are all alone."
"An' savin' yer presence, so ye should be ma'am whin ye're seein' yer daughter goin' aff wid her man. There's loads iv things you and your man will want to be talkin' about. Musha! if it's only rememberin' what ye said an' done whin ye was aff on yer own honeymoon. Mind ye, ma'am, it's not bad talkin' or rememberin', that's not! No motors for me, ma'am—to-day at any rate. I'll go by the thrain that I kem' by; an' when I get to yer hotel, if I'm before ye, I'll shtraighten out things for ye, an' have the rooms nice an' ready. For mind ye, ma'am, me darlin' Lord tould me that he's goin' to have a gran' weddin' to Miss Joy whin he gets his license! Be the way, does he get that, can ye tell me ma'am, from the polis or where the sheebeeners gits theirs? An' av there's goin' to be a weddin' wid flowers an' gowns an' veils an' things in church, I suppose they won't be too previous about comin' together. Musha! but's it's a quare sort iv ways the quality has! Weddin's here be the Sheriff, an' thin be bishops, an' wid licenses. An' him in Bowness—for that's where he tells me he's shtoppin'—an' his wife in Ambleside—on their weddin' night! Begob! Ireland's changin' fast, fur that usen't to be the way. I'm thinkin' that the Shinn-Fayn'll have to wake up a bit if that's the way things is going to go. Or else there'll be millea murther, from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear!" As Mrs. Ogilvie did not wish to discuss this part of the question herself, she beckoned over Athlyne and told him that Mrs. O'Brien had refused to go in his motor.
"Not even if I ask you or tell you to?" he said to the old woman, having not the least intention of doing either.
"Not even thin, me Lord darlin'" she said with a cheery smile. "An' I'm thinkin' it's thankin' me—you an' yer lovely wife too—'ll be before ye're well out of sight of this place. Faix it's a nice sort iv ould gooseberry I'd be, sittin' in the carriage wid me arrums foulded, wid me darlin' Lord sittin' in front dhrivin' like a show-flure in a shute iv leather. An' his bride beside him, wid her arrums round him bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an' her wondhrin', wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he doesn't kiss her what she's pinin' fur. Augh! no! Not me, this time! I was a bride meself—wanst. An' I know betther nor me young Lady does now, what is what on the weddin' day afther the words is said. Though she'll pick up, so she will. She's not the soort that'll be long larnin'! Musha …" Her further revelations and prophesyings were cut short by Athlyne's kissing her and saying "Goodbye!"
If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey southward was Heaven for both the young people. Athlyne felt all the triumph of a conqueror If he had sung out loud, as he would like to have done, his song would have been a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the elan of the conqueror about him; the stress of love-longing and love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his conqueror's booty was beside him, well content to be in his train. Still even conqueror's love has its duties as well as its right, and he was more tender than ever to Joy. She, sitting beside him in all the radiancy of her new found wifehood, felt that their hearts were beating together; and that their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes would be lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the steering wheel—for in the rush of departure he had other things to think of than putting on the gloves which were squeezed behind him in his seat—and would look up into his face she would feel a sort of electric shock as his eyes, leaving for a moment their steering duty, would flash into hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, and even her curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such sudden looks. She realized his idea of the gravity of the situation when she saw, as his eyes returned to their necessary task, the hard look become fixed on his eagle face—the look which to one engaged in his task means safety to those under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She was content that his will should prevail; that his duty should be the duty of both; that her service was to help him. And the first moment she realized this, she sighed happily as she sank back in her seat, her lover-rapture merged in wife-content. She had compensation for the foregoing in the exercise of her own pride. From her present standpoint all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their higher and further peaks; the dark woods running flamelike up into the glory of the mountain colouring; the scent of the new-mown hay, drifted across the track by the bracing winds sweeping over the hills; the glimmering sapphire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. They went fast; Athlyne's wild excitement—the echo of the battle-phrenzy that had won him distinction on the field—found some relief in speed. He had thrown open the throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at such a speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rushing car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most far-flung beauty. He did not fear police traps now. He did not fear anything! Even the car seemed to have yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of the situation. Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the speed made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two who were one.
Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey was of her own choosing entirely. The manner of it had been this: when the party had been arranged for starting her father had said to Athlyne:
"When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will do before us, will you give orders to have everything ready for our party. You can do this before you drive over to Bowness. You can come over to dinner if you like. I suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each other—all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. That can be as soon as you like after you have got the license." To this he had replied:
"I should like to—and shall—do anything I can, sir, to meet your wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything now, on quite my own initiative. You see our dear girl has to be consulted; and I need not tell you that her wishes must prevail—so far as I am concerned!"
"Quite right, my boy! Quite right! said the old man. "Then we shall leave the orders to her. Here, Joy!" she came over, and her father put his suggestion to her. She hesitated gravely, and paused before she spoke; she evidently intended that there should be no mistake as to her deliberate intention:
"No! Daddy, that won't do; I'm going with my husband!" She took his arm and clung to him lovingly, her finger tips biting sweetly into his flesh. "But, Daddy dear, we'll come over to-morrow and lunch or breakfast with you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast. We shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come from Bowness!"
Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There was something so sweetly—so truly wifely, in her words and attitude that it won to his heart and set him in a state of rapture.
The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though ostensibly a mere family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in that category. It was in reality regarded by all the family at present resident in that town as a wedding breakfast. They had one and all dressed themselves for the occasion. Not in complete marriage costume, which would have looked a little overdone, but in a modified form which sufficiently expressed in the mind of each the prevailing spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds before noon the "toot toot" of Athlyne's powerful hooter was heard some distance off. All rushed to the window's to see the great red car swing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the bride and groom sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne was not driving he wore an ordinary morning dress—a well-cut suit of light grey which set out well his tall, lithe powerful figure. Joy was wrapped in a huge motor coat of soft grey, with her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the hall they both took off their wraps, Athlyne helping his wife with the utmost tenderness. When they came into the room they made a grey pair, for with the exception of Athlyne's brown eyes and hair and a scarlet neck tie, and Joy's dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her husband's on her breast, they were grey—all grey. It would seem as if the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been built round Joy's eyes. She certainly looked lovely; there was a brilliant colour in her cheeks, and between her scarlet lips her teeth, when she smiled, flashed like pearls. She was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to float about than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a wake of beaming happiness behind her.
Athlyne too was manifestly happy; but in quieter fashion, as is the way of a man. He was not overt or demonstrative in his attention to Joy; but his eyes followed her perpetually, and his ears seemed to hear every whisper regarding her. Her eyes too, kept turning to him wherever she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood beaming at the pair with a look of proprietary interest; but after a while she began to be a trifle nettled by the husband's absorption in her niece. This feeling culminated when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of the hearth-rug her husband started towards her with a swift movement and with that quick intake of breath which manifests alarmed concern. Judy's impulsiveness found its expression in a semi-humorous, semi-sarcastic remark:
"Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she was brittle! You weren't like that yesterday when you flashed her away from us at sixty miles an hour!" For a moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed on Joy who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to relieve her drew their attention on himself:
"No, my dear Judy—I'm not ever going to call you anything else you know. She wasn't my wife then!"
"Wasn't she!" came the answer tartly spoken. "She was just as much your wife then. She had been married to you only twice! And the first marriage was good enough for anything. I know that is so, for my sheriff says so!—Oh …" The ejaculation was due to the shame of sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed furiously; the Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped over to her, took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.
"I think my dear," he said slowly and quietly, "that constitutes a marriage—if you will have it so?" She looked at him shyly and said quietly:
"If you like to count it a step on the way—like Joy's first marriage, do so—dear! Then if you like we can make it real when Joy becomes a wife—in the Church!"
Everyone in the room was so interested in this little episode that two of them only noticed a queer note of dissent or expostulation, coming in the shape of a sort of modified grunt from the two matrons of the party. Said Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy:
"All right, Judy. I'll remember: 'my sheriff,' if there's any more chaffing. It seems that he'll be 'brittle' before long!" Judy flashed one keen happy glance at him as she whispered close in his ear:
"Don't be ungenerous!" For reply he whispered back:
"Forgive me—dear. I did not intend to be nasty. I'm too happy for anything of that sort!"
As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life followed constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. When Mrs. Ogilvie asked the young couple if they had yet settled when the marriage—the church marriage—was to come off, Joy looked down demurely at the table cloth as her husband answered:
"I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. It is all in hand and there will be no hitch and no delay. I had a wire this morning from my solicitor about it; and also one from the Archbishop congratulating me. I shall be home by the ten ten train on Thursday and we can have the wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the church and the parson ready."
"But, my dear boy, isn't that rather sudden?"
"Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I am concerned, I shall wait as long as Joy wishes. Now that we are married already, I fancy it doesn't much matter. Only that anything which could possibly bind me closer to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don't care whether we have a third marriage at all." Mrs. Ogilvie caught her daughter's eye and answered at once:
"So be it then! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose there can be no objection as to canonical hours?" The Sheriff answered:
"I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop goes through and beyond all canonical hours and all places—in South Britain of course. Armed with that instrument you can celebrate the marriage when and where you will," Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding hands and whispering.
"Of course Joy will stay with us till then—Athlyne." Mrs. Ogilvie spoke the last word with a pause; it was the first time she had used his name.
"Not 'of course.'" he answered. "She is the head of her house now and must be free to do as she please. But I am sure she will like to come to you." Joy made a protesting "moue" at him as she said:
"Of course I'd like to be with Mother and Daddy, and Judy—if I—if I am not to be with you—Oh, darling! you're hurting me. You're so frightfully strong!"
Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved about the room. Joy was sitting on the sofa with her Mother when Mrs. O'Brien came sidling up by the wall. When she got close she curtsied and said:
"Won't ye tell me now, me Lady, if I'm to be the wan to nurse yer childher?"
"Oh dear! But Mrs. O'Brien, I said only yesterday that I'd tell you that some other time. You are previous!—Didn't you hear that I am to be married on Thursday. Later on …"
"No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday ye shpoke; an to-day's to-day. Mayn't I nurse yer ch …"
"Tell her, dear—" her Mother had begun, when Judy joined the group.
What's all this about? Whose children are you talking of?" began the merry spinster. But her sister cut her short:
"Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and try and get accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep your Sheriff out of an asylum." Athlyne, too, with ears preternaturally sharp on Joy's account, had heard something of the conversation. Looking over at his wife, he saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted look in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray.
"I say, let her alone you all! I hope they're not teasing you darling?" Joy, fearing that something unpleasant might be said, on one side or the other, made haste to reassure him.
Then she closed his mouth in the very best way that a young wife can do—the way that seems to take his feet from earth and to raise him to heaven.
THE END