CHAPTER XII
A bunch of belated letters arrived next morning for Vane. They had been hung up at the little town on the big river, where the postmaster had mislaid the address for forwarding which Vane had left with him. Three letters were from his mother, three from the lady whose indifference to and skepticism concerning the backwoods descendants of Willoughby Girl had stung him into making the journey to Forkville—and who had never before addressed so much as a scratch of a pen to him—and several from several firms of solicitors and attorneys. He read them all before he went to see Joe. He found Joe waiting for him, all ready for the morning walk.
“Let’s go out the Glen Road this morning,” she suggested.
“No, I think we had better get married this morning,” he said gravely.
“But that’s for Thursday—day after to-morrow. Had you forgotten? What’s the matter, Rob?”
“I do believe I’m afraid. I got some letters to-day—and rather startling news. My uncle and cousin are dead—killed in a railway accident. It has put my wind up, I must admit. And when I think of what you have gone through even since I came to this place—that fire, and the night and day in the woods—without a scratch, I’m afraid our luck may change any minute now. Why not to-day instead of Thursday—and take no chances?”
“You afraid, Robert? No, it is only the shock of the bad news. We have nothing to fear. Were you very fond of your uncle and cousin?”
“But life’s a chancy thing. Yes, I liked them. They were good fellows—both old soldiers and all that sort of thing—and gone like that, like nothing! Why wait until the day after to-morrow, dear? Why drive my luck? We’ll catch the parson at home, and I have the license in my pocket.”
“Are you serious, dear?”
“Dead serious. I’m afraid to take a chance—for the first time in my life. I never realized before what a risky thing this is—this being happy. My cousin was to be married, you know. They were on their way to his wedding.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried. And then, “All right, I’m ready,” she whispered.
They returned to the McPhees’ house three hours later, man and wife. They found the McPhees full of excitement.
“The deputy sheriff jist drove through here with old Luke Dangler,” said Tom McPhee to Vane. “The old lad bust out of jail; an’ the deputy caught him up on the Glen Road, layin’ for someone with a gun. He’s cracked. I reckon what done it was the sight of Amos stoppin’ Pete Sledge’s axe with his face that day. They won’t put him back into jail anyhow, the deputy says. It’s the lunatic asylum for him.”
“Who was he gunning for on the Glen Road?” asked Vane.
“That’s what the deputy couldn’t make out. The old lad was cussin’ about some feller who’d busted up the whole works jist because he didn’t have courage enough to tell who he was an’ what he wanted.”
“He has no right to feel that way about it,” returned Vane gravely. “It was coming to him.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.