CHAPTER XXXI
_Which, being the last, is, very properly, the longest in the book_
In those benighted days when men went abroad cased in steel, and, uponvery slight provocation, were wont to smite each other with axes, andclubs, to buffet and skewer each other with spears, lances, swords, anddivers other barbarous engines, yet, in that dark, and doughty age,ignorant though they were of all those smug maxims, and excellentmoralities with which we are so happily blessed,--even in thatunhallowed day, when the solemn tread of the policeman's foot was allunknown,--they had evolved for themselves a code of rules whereby togovern their life, and conduct. Amongst these, it was tacitly agreedupon, and understood, that a spoken promise was a pledge, and held to bea very sacred thing, and he who broke faith, committed all the cardinalsins. Indeed their laws were very few, and simple, easily understood,and well calculated to govern man's conduct to his fellow. In this dayof ours, ablaze with learning, and culture,--veneered with a finecivilization, our laws are complex beyond all knowing and expression;man regulates his conduct--to them,--and is as virtuous, and honest asthe law compels him to be.
This is the age of Money, and, therefore, an irreverent age; it is alsothe age of Respectability (with a very large R),--and thepoliceman's bludgeon.
But in Arcadia--because it is an old-world place where life follows aneven, simple course, where money is as scarce as roguery, the old lawstill holds; a promise once given, is a sacred obligation, and not to beset aside.
Even the Black-bird, who lived in the inquisitive apple tree,understood, and was aware of this, it had been born in him, and hadgrown with his feathers. Therefore,--though, to be sure, he had spokenno promise, signed no bond, nor affixed his mark to any agreement, stillhe had, nevertheless, borne in mind a certain request preferred to himwhen the day was very young. Thus, with a constancy of purpose worthy ofall imitation, he had given all his mind, and thought, to thecomposition of a song with a new theme. He had applied himself to itmost industriously all day long, and now, as the sun began to set, hehad at last corked it all out,--every note, every quaver, and trill;and, perched upon a look-out branch, he kept his bold, bright eye turnedtoward a certain rustic seat hard by, uttering a melodious note or two,every now and then, from pure impatience.
And presently, sure enough, he spied her for whom he waited,--the tall,long limbed, supple-waisted creature--whose skin was pink and gold likethe peaches and apricots in the garden, and with soft, little rings ofhair that would have made such an excellent lining to a nest. From thisstrictly utilitarian point of view he had often admired her hair, (hadthis Black-bird fellow), as she passed to and fro among her flowers, orpaused to look up at him and listen to his song, or even sometimes tospeak to him in her sweet, low voice.
But to-day she seemed to have forgotten him altogether, she did not evenglance his way, indeed she walked with bent head, and seemed to keep hereyes always upon the ground.
Therefore the black-bird hopped a little further along the branch, andpeered over to look down at her with first one round eye, and then theother, as she sank upon the seat, near by, and leaned her head wearilyagainst the great tree, behind. And thus he saw, upon the pint and goldof her cheek, something that shone, and twinkled like a drop of dew.
If the Black-bird wondered at this, and was inclined to be curious, hesturdily repressed the weakness,--for here was the audience--seated,and waiting--all expectation for him to begin.
So, without more ado, he settled himself upon the bough, lifted hishead, stretched his throat, and, from his yellow bill, poured forth aflood of golden melody as he burst forth into his "Song of Memory."
And what a song it was!--so full of passionate entreaty, of tenderpleading, of haunting sweetness, that, as she listened, the bright dropquivering upon her lashes, fell and was succeeded by another, andanother. Nor did she attempt to check them, or wipe them away, only shesat and listened with her heavy head pillowed against the great tree,while the Blackbird, glancing down at her every now and then withcritical eye to mark the effect of some particularly difficult passage,piped surely as he had never done before, until the listener's proudface sank lower and lower, and was, at last, hidden in her hands. Seeingwhich, the Black-bird, like the true artist he was, fearing ananti-climax, very presently ended his song with a long-drawn,plaintive note.
But Anthea sat there with her proud head bowed low, long after he hadretired for the night. And the sun went down, and the shadows camecreeping stealthily about her, and the moon began to rise, big andyellow, over the up-land; but Anthea still sat there with her head, oncemore resting wearily against "King Arthur," watching the deepeningshadows until she was roused by Small Porges' hand upon hers and hisvoice saying:
"Why,--I do believe you're crying, Auntie Anthea, an' why are youhere--all alone, an' by yourself?"
"I was listening to the Black-bird, dear,--I never heard him sing quiteso--beautifully, before."
"But black-birds don't make people cry,--an' I know you've beencrying--'cause you sound--all quivery, you know."
"Do I, Georgy?"
"Yes,--is it 'cause you feel--lonely?"
"Yes dear."
"You've cried an awful lot, lately, Auntie Anthea."
"Have I, dear?"
"Yes,--an' it--worries me, you know."
"I'm afraid I've been a great responsibility to you, Georgy dear," saidshe with a rueful little laugh.
"'Fraid you have; but I don' mind the 'sponsibility,--'I'll always takecare of you, you know!" nodded Small Porges, sitting down, the better toget his arm protectingly about her, while Anthea stooped to kiss the topof his curly head. "I promised my Uncle Porges I'd always take care ofyou, an' so I will!"
"Yes, dear."
"Uncle Porges told me--"
"Never mind, dear,--don' let's talk of--him."
"Do you still--hate him, then, Auntie Anthea?"
"Hush, dear!--it's very wrong to--hate people."
"Yes, a course it is! Then--perhaps, if you don't hate him any more--youlike him a bit,--jest a--teeny bit, you know?"
"Why--there's the clock striking half-past eight, Georgy!"
"Yes, I hear it,--but--do you,--the teeniest bit? Oh! can't you like himjest a bit--for my sake, Auntie Anthea? I'm always trying to pleaseyou,--an' I found you the fortune, you know, so now I want you to pleaseme,--an' tell me you like him--for my sake."
"But--Oh Georgy dear!--you don't understand."
"--'cause you see," Small Porges, continued, "after all, I found him foryou--under a hedge, you know--"
"Ah!--why did you, Georgy dear? We were so happy--before--he came--"
"But you couldn't have been, you know; you weren't married--even then,so you couldn't have been really happy, you know;" said Small Porgesshaking his head.
"Why Georgy--what do you mean?"
"Well, Uncle Porges told me that nobody can live happy--ever after,unless they're married--first. So that was why I 'ranged for him tomarry you, so you could _both_ be happy, an' all revelry an' joy,--likethe fairy tale, you know."
"But, you see, we aren't in a fairy tale, dear, so I'm afraid we mustmake the best of things as they are!" and here she sighed again, androse. "Come, Georgy, it's much later than I thought, and quite time youwere in bed, dear."
"All right, Auntie Anthea,--only--don't you think it's jest a bit--cruelto send a boy to bed so very early, an' when the moon's so big, an'everything looks so--frightfully fine? 'sides--"
"Well, what now?" she asked, a little wearily as, obedient to hispleading gesture, she sat down again.
"Why, you haven't answered my question yet, you know."
"What question?" said she, not looking at him.
"'Bout my--Uncle Porges."
"But Georgy--I--"
"You do like him--jest a bit--don't you?--please?" Small Porges wasstanding before her as he waited for her answer, but now, seeing how shehesitated, and avoided his eyes, he put one small hand beneath thedimple in her chin, so that she was forced to look a
t him.
"You do, please,--don't you?" he pleaded.
Anthea hesitated; but, after all,--_He_ was gone, and nobody could hear;and Small Porges was so very small; and who could resist the entreaty inhis big, wistful eyes? surely not Anthea. Therefore, with a suddengesture of abandonment, she leaned forward in his embrace, and restedher weary head against his manly, small shoulder:
"Yes!" she whispered.
"Jest as much as you like--Mr. Cassilis?" he whispered back.
"Yes!"
"A--bit more--jest a teeny bit more?"
"Yes!"
"A--lot more,--lots an' lots,--oceans more?"
"Yes!"
The word was spoken, and, having uttered it, Anthea grew suddenly hotwith shame, and mightily angry with herself, and would, straightway,have given the world to have it unsaid; the more so, as she felt SmallPorges' clasp tighten joyfully, and, looking up, fancied she readsomething like triumph in his look.
She drew away from him, rather hastily, and rose to her feet.
"Come!" said she, speaking now in a vastly different tone, "it must begetting very late--"
"Yes, I s'pecks it'll soon be nine o'clock, now!" he nodded.
"Then you ought to be in bed, fast asleep instead of talkingsuch--nonsense, out here. So--come along--at once, sir!"
"But, can't I stay up--jest a little while? You see--"
"No!"
"You see, it's such a--magnif'cent night! It feels as though--thingsmight happen!"
"Don't be so silly!"
"Well, but it does, you know."
"What do you mean--what things?"
"Well, it feels--gnomy, to me. I s'pecks there's lots of elvesabout--hidden in the shadows, you know, an' peeping at us."
"There aren't any elves,--or gnomes," said Anthea petulantly, for shewas still furiously angry with herself.
"But my Uncle Porges told me--"
"Oh!" cried Anthea, stamping her foot suddenly, "can't you talk ofanyone, or anything but--him? I'm tired to death of him and hisvery name!"
"But I thought you liked him--an awful lot, an'--"
"Well, I don't!"
"But, you said--"
"Never mind what I said! It's time you were in bed asleep,--so comealong--at once, sir!"
So they went on through the orchard together, very silently, for SmallPorges was inclined to be indignant, but much more inclined to be hurt.Thus, they had not gone so very far, when he spoke, in a voice that hewould have described as--quivery.
"Don't you think that you're--just the teeniest bit--cruel to me, AuntieAnthea?" he enquired wistfully, "after I prayed an' prayed till I founda fortune for you!--don't you, please?" Surely Anthea was a creature ofmoods, to-night, for, even while he spoke, she stopped, and turned, andfell on her knees, and caught him in her arms, kissing him many times:
"Yes,--yes, dear, I'm hateful to you,--horrid to you! But I don't meanto be. There!--forgive me!"
"Oh!--it's all right again, now, Auntie Anthea, thank you. I onlythought you were jest a bit--hard, 'cause it is such a--magnif'centnight, isn't it?"
"Yes dear; and perhaps there are gnomes, and pixies about. Anyhow, wecan pretend there are, if you like, as we used to--"
"Oh will you? that would be fine! Then, please, may I go with you--asfar as the brook? We'll wander, you know,--I've never wandered with youin the moonlight,--an' I do love to hear the brook talking toitself,--so--will you wander--jest this once?"
"Well," said Anthea, hesitating, "it's very late!--"
"Nearly nine o 'clock, yes! But Oh!--please don't forget that I found afortune for you--"
"Very well," she smiled, "just this once."
Now as they went together, hand in hand through the moonlight, SmallPorges talked very fast, and very much at random, while his eyes,bright, and eager, glanced expectantly towards every patch ofshadow,--doubtless in search of gnomes, and pixies.
But Anthea saw nothing of this, heard nothing of the suppressedexcitement in his voice, for she was thinking that by now, Mr. Cassilishad read her letter,--that he might, even then, be on his way toDapplemere. She even fancied, once or twice, that she could hear thegallop of his horse's hoofs. And, when he came, he would wantto--kiss her!
"Why do you shiver so, Auntie Anthea, are you cold?"
"No, dear."
"Well, then, why are you so quiet to me,--I've asked you aquestion--three times."
"Have you dear? I--I was thinking; what was the question?"
"I was asking you if you would be awful frightened s'posing we did finda pixie--or a gnome, in the shadows; an' would you be so very awfullyfrightened if a gnome--a great, big one, you know,--came jumping outan'--ran off with you,--should you?"
"No!" said Anthea, with another shiver, "No, dear,--I think I shouldbe--rather glad of it!"
"Should you, Auntie? I'm--so awful glad you wouldn't be frightened. Acourse, I don't s'pose there are gnomes--I mean great, bigones,--really, you know,--but there might be, on a magnif'cent night,like this. If you shiver again Auntie you'll have to take my coat!"
"I thought I heard a horse galloping--hush!"
They had reached the stile, by now, the stile with the crooked, lurkingnail, and she leaned there, a while, to listen. "I'm sure I heardsomething,--away there--on the road!"
"I don't!" said Small Porges, stoutly,--"so take my hand, please, an'let me 'sist you over the stile."
So they crossed the stile, and, presently, came to the brook that wasthe most impertinent brook in the world. And here, upon the littlerustic bridge, they stopped to look down at the sparkle of the water,and to listen to its merry voice.
Yes, indeed to-night it was as impertinent as ever, laughing, andchuckling to itself among the hollows, and whispering scandalously inthe shadows. It seemed to Anthea that it was laughing at her,--mocking,and taunting her with--the future. And now, amid the laughter, weresobs, and tearful murmurs, and now, again, it seemed to be the propheticvoice of old Nannie:
"'By force ye shall be wooed and by force ye shall be wed, and there isno man strong enough to do it, but him as bears the Tiger Markupon him!'"
The "Tiger Mark!" Alas! how very far from the truth were poor, oldNannie's dreams, after all, the dreams which Anthea had very nearlybelieved in--once or twice. How foolish it had all been! And yeteven now--
Anthea had been leaning over the gurgling waters while all this passedthrough her mind, but now,--she started at the sound of a heavyfoot-fall on the planking of the bridge, behind her, and--in that sameinstant, she was encircled by a powerful arm, caught up in a strongembrace,--swung from her feet, and borne away through the shadows of thelittle copse.
It was very dark in the wood, but she knew, instinctively, whose armsthese were that held her so close, and carried her so easily--awaythrough the shadows of the wood,--away from the haunting, hopeless dreadof the future from which there had seemed no chance, or hope of escape.
And, knowing all this, she made no struggle, and uttered no word. Andnow the trees thinned out, and, from under her lashes she saw the faceabove her; the thick, black brows drawn together,--the close set of thelips,--the grim prominence of the strong, square chin.
And now, they were in the road; and now he had lifted her into anautomobile, had sprung in beside her, and--they were off, gliding swift,and ever swifter, under the shadows of the trees.
And still neither spoke, nor looked at each other; only she leaned awayfrom him, against the cushions, while he kept his frowning eyes fixedupon the road a-head; and ever the great car flew onward faster, andfaster; yet not so fast as the beating of her heart, wherein shame, andanger, and fear, and--another feeling strove and fought for mastery.
But at last, finding him so silent, and impassive, she must needs steala look at him, beneath her lashes.
He wore no hat, and as she looked upon him,--with his yellow hair, hislength of limb, and his massive shoulders, he might have been somefierce Viking, and she, his captive, taken by strength of arm--borneaway by force.--By force!<
br />
And, hereupon, as the car hummed over the smooth road, it seemed to finda voice,--a subtle, mocking voice, very like the voice of thebrook,--that murmured to her over and over again:
"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed."
The very trees whispered it as they passed, and her heart throbbed intime to it:
"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed!" So, sheleaned as far from him as she might, watching him with frightened eyeswhile he frowned ever upon the road in front, and the car rocked, andswayed with their going, as they whirled onward through moonlight andthrough shadow, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating ofher heart wherein was fear, and shame, and anger, and--another feeling,but greatest of all now, was fear. Could this be the placid, soft-spokengentleman she had known,--this man, with the implacable eyes, and thebrutal jaw, who neither spoke to, nor looked at her, but frowned alwaysat the road in front.
And so, the fear grew and grew within her,--fear of the man whom sheknew,--and knew not at all. She clasped her hands nervously together,watching him with dilating eyes as the car slowed down,--for the roadmade a sudden turn, hereabouts.
And still he neither looked at, nor spoke to her; and therefore, becauseshe could bear the silence no longer, she spoke--in a voice that soundedstrangely faint, and far-away, and that shook and trembled in spiteof her.
"Where are you--taking me?"
"To be married!" he answered, never looking at her.
"You--wouldn't--dare!"
"Wait and see!" he nodded.
"Oh!--but what do--you mean?" The fear in her voice was more manifestthan ever.
"I mean that you are mine,--you always were, you always must and shallbe. So, I'm going to marry you--in about half-an-hour, byspecial license."
Still he did not even glance towards her, and she looked away over thecountry side all lonely and desolate under the moon.
"I want you, you see," he went on, "I want you more than I ever wantedanything in this world. I need you, because without you my life will beutterly purposeless, and empty. So I have taken you--because you aremine, I know it,--Ah yes! and, deep down in your woman's heart, you knowit too. And so, I am going to marry you,--yes I am, unless--" and here,he brought the car to a standstill, and turning, looked at her for thefirst time.
And now, before the look in his eyes, her own wavered, and fell, lest heshould read within them that which she would fain hide from him,--andwhich she knew they must reveal,--that which was neither shame, noranger, nor fear, but the other feeling for which she dared find no name.And thus, for a long moment, there was silence.
At last she spoke, though with her eyes still hidden:
"Unless!" she repeated breathlessly.
"Anthea,--look at me!"
But Anthea only drooped her head the lower; wherefore, he leanedforward, and--even as Small Porges had done,--set his hand beneath thedimple in her chin, and lifted the proud, un-willing face:
"Anthea,--look at me!"
And now, what could Anthea do but obey?
"Unless," said he, as her glance, at last, met his, "unless you can tellme--now, as your eyes look into mine,--that you love Cassilis. Tell methat, and I will take you back, this very instant; and never trouble youagain. But, unless you do tell me that, why then--your Pride shall notblast two lives, if I can help it. Now speak!"
But Anthea was silent, also, she would have turned aside from hissearching look, but that his arms were about her, strong, andcompelling. So, needs must she suffer him to look down into her veryheart, for it seemed to her that, in that moment, he had rent away everystitch, and shred of Pride's enfolding mantle, and that he saw thetruth, at last.
But, if he had, he gave no sign, only he turned and set the car hummingupon its way, once more.
On they went through the midsummer night, up hill and down hill, bycross-road and bye-lane, until, as they climbed a long ascent, theybeheld a tall figure standing upon the top of the hill, in the attitudeof one who waits; and who, spying them, immediately raised a very stiffleft arm, whereupon this figure was joined by another. Now as the cardrew nearer, Anthea, with a thrill of pleasure, recognized the Sergeantstanding very much as though he were on parade, and with honest-facedPeterday beside him, who stumped joyfully forward, and,--with a bob ofhis head, and a scrape of his wooden leg,--held out his hand to her.
Like one in a dream she took the sailor's hand to step from the car, andlike one in a dream, she walked on between the soldier and the sailor,who now reached out to her, each, a hand equally big and equally gentle,to aid her up certain crumbling, and time-worn steps. On they wenttogether until they were come to a place of whispering echoes, wherelights burned, few, and dim.
And here, still as one in a dream, she spoke those words which gave herlife, henceforth, into the keeping of him who stood beside her,--whosestrong hand trembled as he set upon her finger, that which is an emblemof eternity.
Like one in a dream, she took the pen, and signed her name, obediently,where they directed. And yet,--could this really be herself,--thissilent, submissive creature?
And now, they were out upon the moon-lit road again, seated in the car,while Peterday, his hat in his hand, was speaking to her. And yet,--wasit to her?
"Mrs. Belloo, mam," he was saying, "on this here monumentous occasion--"
"Monumentous is the only word for it, Peterday!" nodded the Sergeant.
"On this here monumentous occasion, Mrs. Belloo," the sailor proceeded,"my shipmate, Dick, and me, mam,--respectfully beg the favour ofsaluting the bride;--Mrs. Belloo, by your leave--here's health, andhappiness, mam!" And, hereupon, the old sailor kissed her, rightheartily. Which done, he made way for the Sergeant who, after a moment'shesitation, followed suit.
"A fair wind, and prosperous!" cried Peterday, flourishing his hat.
"And God--bless you--both!" said the Sergeant as the car shot away.
So, it was done!--the irrevocable step was taken! Her life and futurehad passed for ever into the keeping of him who sat so silent besideher, who neither spoke, nor looked at her, but frowned ever at the roadbefore him.
On sped the car, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating ofher heart wherein there was yet something of fear, and shame,--butgreatest of all was that other emotion, and the name of it was--Joy.
Now, presently, the car slowed down, and he spoke to her, though withoutturning his head. And yet, something in his voice thrilled through herstrangely.
"Look Anthea,--the moon is at the full, to-night."
"Yes!" she answered.
"And Happiness shall come riding astride the full moon!" he quoted. "OldNannie is rather a wonderful old witch, after all, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"And then there is--our nephew,--my dear, little Porges! But for him,Happiness would have been a stranger to me all my days, Anthea. Hedreamed that the Money Moon spoke to him, and--but he shall tell you ofthat, for himself."
But Anthea noticed that he spoke without once looking at her; indeed itseemed that he avoided glancing towards her, of set design, and purpose;and his deep voice quivered, now and then, in a way she had never heardbefore. Therefore, her heart throbbed the faster, and she kept her gazebent downward, and thus, chancing to see the shimmer of that which wasupon her finger, she blushed, and hid it in a fold of her gown.
"Anthea."
"Yes?"
"You have no regrets,--have you?"
"No," she whispered.
"We shall soon be--home, now!"
"Yes."
"And are you--mine--for ever, and always? Anthea, you--aren't--afraid ofme any more, are you?"
"No."
"Nor ever will be?"
"Nor--ever will be."
Now as the car swept round a bend, behold yet two other figures standingbeside the way.
"Yo ho, Captain!" cried a voice, "Oh--please heave to, Uncle Porges!"
And, forth to meet them, came Small Porges, running. Yet rememberingMiss Priscilla,
tapping along behind him, he must needs turn back,--togive her his hand like the kindly, small gentleman that he was.
And now--Miss Priscilla had Anthea in her arms, and they were kissingeach other, and murmuring over each other, as loving women will, whileSmall Porges stared at the car, and all things pertaining thereto, moreespecially, the glaring head-lights, with great wondering eyes.
At length, having seen Anthea, and Miss Priscilla safely stowed, heclambered up beside Bellew, and gave him the word to proceed. What pencould describe his ecstatic delight as he sat there, with one handhooked into the pocket of Uncle Porges' coat, and with the cool nightwind whistling through his curls. So great was it, indeed, that Bellewwas constrained to turn aside, and make a wide detour, purely for thesake of the radiant joy in Small Porges' eager face.
When, at last, they came within sight of Dapplemere, and the greatmachine crept up the rutted, grassy lane, Small Porges sighed,and spoke:
"Auntie Anthea," said he, "are you sure that you are married--nicean'--tight, you know?"
"Yes, dear," she answered, "why--yes, Georgy."
"But you don't look a bit diff'rent, you know,--either of you. Are youquite--sure? 'cause I shouldn't like you to disappoint me,--after all."
"Never fear, my Porges," said Bellew, "I made quite sure of it while Ihad the chance,--look!" As he spoke, he took Anthea's left hand,drawing it out into the moonlight, so that Small Porges could see theshining ring upon her finger.
"Oh!" said he, nodding his head, "then that makes it all right I s'pose.An' you aren't angry with me 'cause I let a great, big gnome come an'carry you off, are you, Auntie Anthea?"
"No, dear."
"Why then, everything's quite--magnif'cent, isn't it? An' now we'regoing to live happy ever after, all of us, an' Uncle Porges is going totake us to sail the oceans in his ship,--he's got a ship that allbelongs to his very own self, you know, Auntie Anthea,--so all will berevelry an' joy--just like the fairy tale, after all."
And so, at last, they came to the door of the ancient House ofDapplemere. Whereupon, very suddenly, Adam appeared, bare-armed from thestables, who, looking from Bellew's radiant face to Miss Anthea's shyeyes, threw back his head, vented his great laugh, and was immediatelysolemn again.
"Miss Anthea," said he, wringing and twisting at his hat, "or--I think Ishould say,--Mrs. Belloo mam,--there ain't no word for it! least-waysnot as I know on, nohow. No words be strong enough to tell theJ-O-Y--j'y, mam, as fills us--one an' all." Here, he waved his hand towhere stood the comely Prudence with the two rosy-cheeked maids peepingover her buxom shoulders.
"Only," pursued Adam, "I be glad--ah! mortal glad, I be,--as 'tis you,Mr. Belloo sir. There ain't a man in all the world,--or--as you mightsay,--uni-verse, as is so proper as you to be the husband to our MissAnthea--as was,--not nohow, Mr. Belloo sir. I wish you j'y, a j'y asshall grow wi' the years, an' abide wi' you always,--both on ye."
"That is a very excellent thought Adam!" said Bellew, "and I think Ishould like to shake hands on it." Which they did, forthwith.
"An' now, Mrs. Belloo mam," Adam concluded, "wi' your kind permission,I'll step into the kitchen, an' drink a glass o' Prue's ale--to your'ealth, and 'appiness. If I stay here any longer I won't say but what Ishall burst out a-singing in your very face, mam, for I do be that'appy-'earted,--Lord!"
With which exclamation, Adam laughed again, and turning about, strodeaway to the kitchen with Prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids, laughingas he went.
"Oh my dears!" said little Miss Priscilla, "I've hoped for this,--prayedfor it,--because I believe he is--worthy of you, Anthea, and because youhave both loved each other, from the very beginning; oh dear me; yes youhave! And so, my dears,--your happiness is my happiness and--Oh,goodness me! here I stand talking sentimental nonsense while our SmallPorges is simply dropping asleep as he stands."
"'Fraid I am a bit tired," Small Porges admitted, "but it's been amagnif'cent night. An' I think, Uncle Porges, when we sail away in yourship, I think, I'd like to sail round the Horn first 'cause they sayit's always blowing, you know, and I should love to hear it blow. An'now--Good-night!"
"Wait a minute, my Porges, just tell us what it was the Money Moon saidto you, last night, will you?"
"Well," said Small Porges, shaking his head, and smiling, a slow, slysmile, "I don't s'pose we'd better talk about it, Uncle Porges, 'cause,you see, it was such a very great secret; an 'sides,--I'm awful sleepy,you know!" So saying, he nodded slumberously, kissed Anthea sleepily,and, giving Miss Priscilla his hand, went drowsily into the house.
But, as for Bellew it seemed to him that this was the hour for which hehad lived all his life, and, though he spoke nothing of this thought,yet Anthea knew it, instinctively,--as she knew why he had avoidedlooking at her hitherto, and what had caused the tremor in his voice,despite his iron self-control; and, therefore, now that they were alone,she spoke hurriedly, and at random:
"What--did he--Georgy mean by--your ship?"
"Why, I promised to take him a cruise in the yacht--if you cared tocome, Anthea."
"Yacht!" she repeated, "are you so dreadfully rich?"
"I'm afraid we are," he nodded, "but, at least, it has the advantage ofbeing better than if we were--dreadfully poor, hasn't it?"
Now, in the midst of the garden there was an old sun-dial worn by time,and weather, and it chanced that they came, and leaned there, side byside. And, looking down upon the dial, Bellew saw certain charactersgraven thereon in the form of a poesy.
"What does it say, here, Anthea?" he asked. But Anthea shook her head:
"That, you must read for yourself!" she said, not looking at him.
So, he took her hand in his, and, with her slender finger, spelled outthis motto.
Time, and youthe do flee awaie, Love, Oh! Love then, whiles ye may.
"Anthea!" said he, and again she heard the tremor in his voice, "youhave been my wife nearly three quarters of an hour, and all that time Ihaven't dared to look at you, because if I had, I must have--kissed you,and I meant to wait--until your own good time. But Anthea, you havenever yet told me that you--love me--Anthea?"
She did not speak, or move, indeed, she was so very still that he needsmust bend down to see her face. Then, all at once, her lashes werelifted, her eyes looked up into his--deep and dark with passionatetenderness.
"Aunt Priscilla--was quite--right," she said, speaking in her low,thrilling voice, "I have loved you--from the--very beginning, I think!"And, with a soft, murmurous sigh, she gave herself into his embrace.
Now, far away across the meadow, Adam was plodding his homeward way,and, as he trudged, he sang to himself in a harsh, but not unmusicalvoice, and the words of his song were these:
"When I am dead, diddle diddle, as well may hap You'll bury me, diddle diddle, under the tap, Under the tap, diddle diddle, I'll tell you why, That I may drink, diddle diddle, when I am dry."
THE END
The Money Moon: A Romance Page 31
