CHAPTER VIII
TILL DEATH US DO PART
"All right, my darling," he made answer. "But not here. This is noplace for melody, down in this dark and gloomy crypt, surrounded bythe relics of the dead. We've been buried alive down here altogethertoo long as it is. _Brrr!_ The chill's beginning to get into my verybones! Don't you feel it, Beta?"
"I do, now I stop to think of it. Well, let's go up then. We'll haveour music where it belongs, in the cathedral, with sunshine and airand birds to keep it company!"
Half an hour later they had transported the magnificent phonograph andthe steel records out of the crypt and up the spiral stairway, intothe vast, majestic sweep of the transept.
They placed their find on the broad concrete steps that in the olddays had led up to the altar, and while Allan minutely examined themechanism to make sure that all was right, the girl, sitting on thetop step, looked over the records.
"Why, Allan, here are instrumental as well as vocal masterpieces," sheannounced with joy. "Just listen--here's Rossini's 'Barbier deSeville,' and Grieg's 'Anitra's Dance' from the 'Peer Gynt Suite,' andhere's that most entrancing 'Barcarolle' from the 'Contesd'Hoffman'--you remember it?"
She began to hum the air, then, as the harmony flowed through hersoul, sang a few lines, her voice like gold and honey:
Belle nuit, o nuit d'amour, souris a nos ivresses! Nuit plus douce que le jour, o belle nuit d'amour! Le temps fuit et sans retour emporte nos tendresses; Loin de cet heureux sejour le temps fuit sans retour! Zephyrs embrases, versez-nous vos caresses! Ah! Donnez-nous vos baisers!
The echoes of Offenbach's wondrous air, a crystal stream of harmony,and of the passion-pulsing words, died through the vaulted heights. Amoment Allan sat silent, gazing at the girl, and then he smiled.
"It lives in you again, the past!" he cried. "In you the world shallbe made new once more! Beatrice, when I last heard that 'Barcarolle'it was sung by Farrar and Scotti at the Metropolitan, in the winter of1913. And now--you waken the whole scene in me again!
"I seem to behold the vast, clear-lighted space anew, the tiers ofgilded galleries and boxes, the thousands of men and women hangingeagerly on every silver note--I see the marvelous orchestra, many, yetone; the Venetian scene, the moonlight on the Grand Canal, thegondolas, the merrymakers--I hear Giulietta and Nicklausse blendingthose perfect tones! My heart leaps at the memory, beloved, and Ibless you for once more awakening it!"
"With my poor voice?" she smiled. "Play it, play the record, Allan,and let us hear it as it should be sung!"
He shook his head.
"No!" he declared. "Not after you have sung it. Your voice to me isinfinitely sweeter than any that the world of other days ever so muchas dreamed of!"
He bent above her, caressed her hair and kissed her; and for a littlewhile they both forgot their music. But soon the girl recalled him tothe work in hand.
"Come, Allan, there's so much to do!"
"I know. Well now--let's see, what next?"
He paused, a new thought in his eyes.
"Beta!"
"Well?"
"You don't find Mendelssohn's 'Wedding March,' do you? Look, dearest,see if you can find it. Perhaps it may be there. If so--"
She eyed him, her gaze widening.
"You mean?"
He nodded.
"Just so! Perhaps, after all, you and I can--"
"Oh, come and help me look for it, Allan!" she cried enthusiastic as achild in the joy of his new inspiration. "If we only _could_ find it,wouldn't that be glorious?"
Eagerly they searched together.
"'Ich Grolle Nicht,' by Schumann, no," Stern commented, as one by onethey examined the records. "'Ave Maria,' Arcadelt-Liszt--no, thoughit's magnificent. That's the one you sing best of all, Beta. How oftenyou've sung it to me! Remember, at the bungalow, how I used to lay myhead in your lap while you played with my Samsonesque locks and sangme to sleep? Let's see--Brahms's 'Wiegenlied.' Cradle-song, eh? Alittle premature; that's coming later. Eh? Found it, by Jove! Here weare, the March itself, so help me! Shall I play it now?"
"Not yet, Allan. Here, see what _I've_ found!"
She handed him a record as they sat there together in a broad ribbonof mid-morning sunlight that flooded down through one of theclearstory windows.
"'The Form of the Solemnization of Matrimony, by Bishop Gibson,'" heread. And silence fell, and for a long minute their eyes met.
"Beatrice!"
"I know; I understand! So, after all, these words--"
"Shall be spoken, O my love! Out of the dead past a voice shall speakto us and we shall hear! Beatrice, the words your mother heard, mymother heard, we shall hear, too. Come, Beatrice, for now the time isat hand!"
She fell a trembling, and for a moment could not speak. Her eyes grewveiled in tears, but through them he saw a bright smile break, likesunlight after summer showers.
She stood up and held out her hand to him.
"My Allan!"
In his arms he caught her.
"At last!" he whispered. "Oh, at last!"
When the majesty and beauty of the immortalmarriage hymn climbed the high vaults of the cathedral, waking theechoes of the vacant spaces, and when it rolled, pealing triumphantly,she leaned her head upon his breast and, trembling, clung to him.
With his arm he clasped her; he leaned above her, shrouding her in hislove as in an everlasting benison. And through their souls thrilledwonder, awe and passion, and life held another meaning and anothermystery.
The words of solemn sacredness hallowed for centuries beyond thememory of man, rose powerful, heart-thrilling, deep with symbolism,strong with vibrant might--and, hand in hand, the woman and the manbowed their heads, listening:
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join together this man andthis woman in holy matrimony--reverently, discreetly, advisedly,soberly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come tobe joined."
His hand tightened upon her hand, for he felt her trembling. Butbravely she smiled up at him and upon her hair the golden sunlightmade an aureole.
The voice rose in its soul-shaking question--slow and powerful:
"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together inthe holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor,and keep her in sickness and in health, and keep thee only unto her,so long as ye both shall live?"
Allan's "_I will!_" was as a hymn of joy upon the morning air.
"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together inthe holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou serve him, love, honor, andkeep him in sickness and in health, and keep thee only unto him, solong as ye both shall live?"
She answered proudly, bravely:
"I will!"
Then the man chorused the voice and said:
"I, Allan, take thee, Beatrice, to my wedded wife, to have and tohold from this day forward for better, for worse, for richer, forpoorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish, till deathus do part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."
Her answer came, still led by the commanding voice, like an antiphonyof love:
"I, Beatrice, take thee, Allan, to my wedded husband, to have and tohold from this day forward for better, for worse, for richer, forpoorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish, till deathus do part, and thereto I give thee my troth!"
Already Allan had drawn from his little finger the plain gold ring hehad worn there so many centuries. Upon her finger he placed the ringand kissed it, and, following the voice, he said:
"With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I theeendow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the HolyGhost. Amen."
Forest, river, sky and golden sunlight greeted them as they stood onthe broad porch of the cathedral, and the clear song of many birds,unafraid in the virgin wilderness, made music to their ears such asmust have greeted the primal day.
Suddenly Allan caught and crushed her in his arms.
"My wife!
" he whispered.
The satin of her skin from breast to brow surged into sudden flame.Her eyes closed and between her eager lips the breath came fast.
"Oh, Allan--_husband!_ I feel--I hear--"
"The voice of the unborn, crying to us from out the dark, 'O father,mother, give us life!'"
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