“‘It may be held that a man and a woman, by living together and holding themselves out as married persons, have sufficiently declared their matrimonial consent; and in that case they will be declared to be married although no specific promise of marriage or ofde præsentiacknowledgement has been proved.’
“‘It may be held that a man and a woman, by living together and holding themselves out as married persons, have sufficiently declared their matrimonial consent; and in that case they will be declared to be married although no specific promise of marriage or ofde præsentiacknowledgement has been proved.’
“But there is a still more cogent and direct proof, should such be required. Each of these consenting parties to the contract of ‘marriage by consent,’ on coming separately to this hotel last night gave to the servant of the house who admitted them the name by which I hold they are now bound in honourable wedlock!” He spoke the last sentences gravely and impressively after the manner of an advocate pressing home on a jury the conclusion of an elaborate train of reasoning. Whilst speaking he had kept his eyes fixed on Colonel Ogilvie, who unconsciously took it that an exhortation on patience and toleration was being addressed to him. The effect was increased by the action of Joy, who seeing him all alone and inferring his spiritual loneliness, left Judith but still holding Athlyne’s arm drew the latter towards him. Then she took her father’s arm and stood between the two men whom she loved. Judy quietly took Athlyne’s other arm, and so all stood in line holding each other as they faced the Sheriff. No one said a word; all were afraid to break the silence.
“We now come to further proofs if such be required. The woman, who arrived first, gave the name of Lady Athlyne.” Here Joy got fearfully red; she was conscious of her father’s eyes on her, even before she heard him say:
“That foolish joke again! Did not I forbid you to use it daughter?” She felt it would be unwise to answer, to speak at all just at present. In desperation she raised her eyes to the face of her lover—and was struck with a sort of horrified amazement. For an instant it had occurred to him that Joy must have known his identity—for some time past at all events. The thought was, however, but momentary. Her eyes fell again quickly, and she stood in abashed silence. There was nothing to do now but to wait. The calm voice of the Sheriff went on, like the voice of Doom:
“The man arrived later. He himself had wired in his own name for rooms; but by the time he had arrived the possibility of his coming had, owing to the fog, been given up. The other traveller had been given the bedroom, and he slept on the sofa in the sitting-room—this room.” As he spoke he went over to the door of communication between the rooms and examined the door. There were no fastenings except the ordinary latch; neither lock nor bolt. He did not say a word, but walked back to his place. Judy could not contain her curiosity any longer; she blurted out:
“What name did he give?” The Sheriff looked at her admiringly as he answered:
“The name he gave, dear lady, was ‘Athlyne’!”
“Is that your name?” she queried—this time to Athlyne.
“It is!” He pulled himself up to his full height and stood on his dignity as he said it. His name should not be dishonoured if he could help it.
Colonel Ogilvie stood by with an air of conscious superiority. He already knew the name from Athlyne’s letter, though he had not up to that moment understood the full import of it. He was willing to be further informed through Judy’s questioning.
“And you are Lord Athlyne—the Earl of Athlyne?”
“Certainly!”
To the astonishment of every one of the company Judy burst into a wild peal of hysterical laughter. This closely followed a speech of broken utterance which only some of those present understood at all—and of those some only some few partly. “Athlyne!”—“kill him for it!”—“calling herself by his name,”—“oh! oh! A-h-h!” There was a prolonged screech and then hysterical laughter followed. At the first this unseemly mirth created a feeling of repulsion in all who heard. It seemed altogether out of place; in the midst of such a serious conversation, when the lives and happiness of some of those present were at stake, to have the train of thought broken by so inopportune a cachinnation was almost unendurable. Colonel Ogilvie was furious. Well was it for the possibilities of peace that his peculiar life and ideas had trained him to be tolerant of woman’s weakness, and to be courteous to them even under difficulties. For had he given any expression to his natural enough feelings such would inevitably have brought him into collision—intellectual if not physical—with both Athlyne and the Sheriff; and either was to be deplored. Joy was in her heart indignant, for several reasons. It was too hard that, just as things were possibly beginning to become right and the fine edge of tragedy to be turned, her father’s mind should be taken back to anger and chagrin. But far beyond this on the side of evil was the fact that it imperilled afresh the life of—of the man she loved, her … her husband. Even the personal aspect to her could not be overlooked. The ill-timed laughter prevented her hearing more of … of the man who it now seemed was already her husband. However she restrained and suppressed herself and waited, still silent, for the development of things. But she did not consider looks as movements; she raised her eyes to Athlyne’s adoringly, and kept them there. He in turn had been greatly upset for the moment; even now, whilst those wild peals of hysterical laughter continued to resound, he could not draw any conclusions from the wild whirl of inchoate thoughts. There was just one faint gleam of light which had its origin rather in instinct than reason, that perhaps the interruption had its beneficial side which would presently be made manifest. When Joy looked towards him there was a balm for his troubled spirit. In the depths of her beautiful eyes he lost himself—and his doubts and sorrows, and was content.
The only one unmoved was the Sheriff. His mental attitude allowed him to look at things more calmly than did those personally interested. With the exception of one phase—that of concern that this particular woman, who had already impressed her charming personality on his heart, should be in such distress—he could think, untroubled, of the facts before him. With that logical mind of his, and with his experience of law and the passions that lead to law-invoking, he knew that the realization of Athlyne’s name and position was a troublesome matter which might have been attended with disastrous consequences. To a man of Colonel Ogilvie’s courage and strong passion the presence of an antagonist worthy of his powers is rather an incentive to quarrel than a palliative.
As to poor Judy she was in no position to think at all. She was to all practical intents, except for the noise she was occasionally making—her transport was subsiding—as one who is not. She continued intermittently her hysterical phrenzy—to laugh and cry, each at the top note—and commingling eternally. She struggled violently as she sat on the chair into which she had fallen when the attack began; she stamped her heels on the floor, making a sound like gigantic castanets. The sound and restless movement made an embarrassingmilieufor the lucid expression of law and entangled facts; but through it all the Sheriff, whose purpose after all was to convince Ogilvie, went on with his statement. By this time Joy, and Athlyne, whom with an appealing look she had summoned to help, were endeavouring to restore Judy. One at either side they knelt by her, holding her hands and slapping them and exercising such other ministrations as the girl out of her limited experience of such matters could, happily to soothing effect, suggest. The Sheriff’s voice, as calm voices will, came through the disturbance seemingly unhindered:
“Thus you will note that in all this transaction the Earl of Athlyne had made no disguise of his purpose. To the police who arrested him he at once disclosed his identity, which the sergeant told me was verified by the name on his motor-driver’s license. He telegraphed to the hotel by his title—as is fitting and usual; and he gave his title when he arrived. As I have already said, he stated to the police, at first on his own initiative and later when interrogated directly on the point, that the woman in the motor was his wife. And the identity of the woman in the motor and the woman in the hotel can easily be proved. Thus on the man’s part there is ample evidence of that matrimonial purpose which the law requires. All this without counting the letter to the woman’s father, in which he stated his wish and intention to marry her.
“Now as to the woman—and I must really apologise to her for speaking of the matter in her presence.”—Here Athlyne interrupted his ministrations with regard to Judy in order to expostulate:
“Oh, I say Mr. Sheriff. Surely it is not necessary.” But the Sheriff shut him up quite shortly. He had a purpose in so doing: he wished in his secret heart to warn both Athlyne and Joy not to speak a word till he had indicated that the time had come for so doing.
“There is nothing necessary, my Lord; except that both you and the young lady should listen whilst I am speaking! I am doing so for the good of you both; and I take it as promised that neither of you will say a single word until I have told you that you may do so.”
“Quite right!” this was saidsotto voceby Colonel Ogilvie.
“You, young madam, have taken upon yourself the responsibilities of wifehood; and it is right as well as necessary that you understand them; such of them at least as have bearing upon the present situation.
“As to the woman. She, when questioned by the police as to her status for the purpose of verification of Lord Athlyne’s statement, accepted that statement. Later on, she of her own free will and of her own initiative, gave her name as Lady Athlyne—only the bearer of which could be the wife of the Defender; I mean of Lord Athlyne.” The interruption this time came from Colonel Ogilvie.
“If Lord Athlyne is Defender, who is the other party?”
“Lady Athlyne, or Miss Ogilvie, in whichever name she might take action, would be the Pursuer!”
“Sir!” thundered the Colonel, going off as usual at half-cock, “do you insinuate that my daughter is pursuer of a man?” He grew speechless with indignation. The Sheriff’s coolness stood to him there, when the fury of the Kentuckian was directed to him personally. In the same even tone he went on speaking:
“I must ask—I reallymustask that you do not be so hasty in your conclusions whilst I am speaking, Colonel Ogilvie. You must understand that I am only explaining the law; not even giving any opinion of my own. The terminology of Scot’s Law is peculiar, and differs from English law in such matters. For instance what in English law is ‘Plaintiff and Defendant’ becomes with us ‘Pursuer and Defender.’ There may be a female as well as a male Pursuer. Thus on the grounds of present consent as there is ample proof of Matrimonial Consent of either and both parties—sufficient for either to use against the other. I take it that the Court would hold the marriage proved; unlessbothparties repudiated the Intent. This I am sure would never be; for if there were any mutual affection neither would wish to cause such gossip as would inevitably ensue. And if either party preferred that the union should continue, either from motives of love or interest, the marriage could be held good. And I had better say at once, since it is a matter to be considered by any parent, that should there have been any valid ground for what you designate as ‘scandal,’ such would in the eyes of the law be only the proper and necessary completion of the act of marriage. And let me say also that the fact of the two parties, thus become one by the form of Irregular Marriage, having passed the night in this suite of rooms without bolt of fastening on the connecting door would be taken by a Court as proof of consummation. No matter by what entanglement of events—no matter how or by what accident or series of accidents the two parties came into this juxtaposition!
“There is but one other point to be considered regarding the validity of this marriage. It is that of compliance with the terms of Lord Brougham’s Act of 1856. The man has undoubted domicile in Scotland for certain legal purposes. But the marriage law requires a further and more rigid reading of residence than mere possession of estates. The words are that one of the parties to the marriage must ‘have his or her usual place of residence’ in this Country. But as I have shown you that in Lord Athlyne’s case his living in Scotland for several weeks in one or other of his own houses would be certainly construed by any Court as compliance with the Act, I do not think that any question of legality could arise. Indeed it is within my own knowledge that as a Scottish peer—Baron of Ceann-da-Shail—who declared Scottish domicile on reaching his majority and whose ‘domicile of origin’ was not affected by his absence as an officer in foreign service, his status for the purpose of Scottish marriage is unassailable.
“In fine let me point out that I am speaking altogether ofproofof the marriage itself. The actual marriage is in law the consent of the parties; and such has undoubtedly taken place. The only possible condition of its nullity would be the repudiation of the implied Consent by both of the parties. One alone would not be sufficient!
“And now, Colonel Ogilvie, as I believe it will be well that you and the two young people should consider the situation from this point of view, will you allow me to withdraw—still on the supposition that you will join me later at breakfast. And if this merry lady”—pointing to Judy who had gained composure sufficiently to hear the end of his explanation—“will honour me by coming to my sitting-room, just below this, where breakfast will be served, it may perhaps be better. I take it that you will be all able to speak more freely, you and your daughter—and her husband!”
He withdrew gracefully, giving his arm to Judy who having risen bashfully had taken his extended arm. She was blushing furiously.
The door closed behind him, leaving Joy standing between her father and Athlyne, and holding an arm of each.
Fora few minutes there was silence in the room; silence so profound that every sound of the street was clearly heard. Even the shutting of the Sheriff’s door in the room below was distinct.
The first to speak was Colonel Ogilvie. Athlyne, who would have liked to break the silence refrained through prudence; he feared that were he to speak before Colonel Ogilvie did, that easily-irate gentleman might take offence. He knew that this might be disastrous, for it would renew the old strife in an acute form; as it was, there were distinct indications of coming peace. Joy, and Joy alone, was to be thought of now. By this time Athlyne was beginning to get the measure of Colonel Ogilvie’s foot. He realised that the dictatorial, vindictive, blood-thirsty old man would perhaps do much if left to himself; but that if hindered or thwarted or opposed in any way his pride or his vanity—and they were united in him—would force him to keep his position at any cost.
“Well, sir?” The tone was so peremptory and so “superior” that any man to whom it had been used might well have taken offence; but Athlyne was already schooled to bear, and moreover the statement made by the Sheriff filled his heart with such gladness that he felt that he could bear anything. As Joy was now his wife hecouldnot quarrel with her father—nor receive any quarrel from him. Still, all the same, he felt that he must support and maintain his own independent position; such would be the best road to ultimate peace. Moreover, he had his own pride; and as he had already made up his mind to die if need be for Joy’s sake, he could not go back on that resolution without seeming to be disloyal to her. There would—could—be no hiding anything from her as she had already heard the whole of the quarrel and of his acquiescence to her father’s challenge. No one, however, would have thought he had any quarrel who heard his reply, spoken in exquisitely modulated accents of respect:
“Need I say, Colonel Ogilvie, that I am equally proud and happy in finding myself allied with your House by my marriage with your daughter. For, sir, I love her with all my soul, as well as with all my heart and mind. She is to me the sweetest, dearest and best thing in all the universe. I am proud of her and respect her as much as I love her; and to you, her father, I hope I may say that I bless—and shall ever bless for so long as I live—the day that I could call her mine.” As he spoke, Joy’s hand on his arm, which had trembled at the beginning, now gripped him hard and firmly. Turning his eyes to hers he saw in them a look of adoration which made his heart leap and his blood seem on fire. The beautiful eyes fell for an instant as a red tide swept her face and neck; but in an instant more they were raised to his eyes and hung there, beaming with pride and love and happiness. This nerved and softened him at once, to even a gentler feeling towards the old man; those lovely eyes had always looked trustingly and lovingly into her father’s, and he would never disturb—so he vowed to himself—if he could avoid it by any sacrifice on his part, such filial and parental affection. And so, with gentler voice and softened mien, he went on speaking.
“Now I must ask you to believe, sir, that with the exception of that one fault—a grave one I admit—of taking Miss Ogilvie out alone in my motor I have not willingly or consciously been guilty of any other disrespect towards you. You now understand, of course, that it was that unhappy assumed name which prevented my having the pleasure of visiting you and your family on this side of the Atlantic. No one can deplore more than I do that unhappy alias. The other, though I regret—and regret deeply—the pain it has caused, I cannot be sorry for, since it has been the means of making Joy my wife.”
Here he beamed down into the beautiful grey eyes of the said wife who was still holding his arm. As he finished she pinched gently the flesh of his arm. This sent a thrill through him; it was a kiss of sorts and had much the same effect as the real thing. Joy noted the change in his voice as he went on:
“I so respected your wishes, sir, that I did not actually ask in words Joy to be my wife until I should have obtained your permission to address myself to her. If you will look at that letter you will see that it was written at Ceann-da-Shail, my place in Ross-shire—days before I posted it.”
“Then if you did not ask her to marry you; how is it that you are now married—according to the Sheriff?” He thought this a poser, and beamed accordingly. Athlyne answered at once:
“When two people love each other, sir, as Joy and I do, speech is the least adequate form of expression. We did not want words; we knew!” Again Joy squeezed his arm and they stood close together in a state of rapture. The Colonel, with some manifest hesitation, said:
“With regard to what the Sheriff spoke of as ‘real cause of scandal,’ was there. …?”
“That, sir,” said Athlyne interrupting with as fierce and truculent an aspect as had been to the Colonel at any moment of the interview “is a subject on which I refuse to speak, even to you.” Then after a pause he added:
“This I will say to you as her father who is entitled to hear it: Joy’s honour is as clear and stainless as the sunlight. Whatever has taken place has been my doing, and I alone am answerable for it.” Whilst he was speaking Joy stood close to him, silent and with downcast eyes. In the prolonged silence which ensued she raised them, and letting go Athlyne’s arm stepped forward towards her father with flashing eyes:
“Father what he says is God’s truth. But there is one other thing which you should know, and you must know it from me since he will not speak. He is justified in speaking of my honour, for it was due—and due alone—to his nobility of character that I am as I am. That and your unexpected arrival. For my part I would have——”
“Joy!” Athlyne’s voice though the tone was low, rang like a trumpet. Half protest it was, half command. Instinctively the woman recognised the tone and obeyed, as women have obeyed the commands of the men they loved, and were proud to do so, from Eden garden down the ages.
“Speak on, daughter! Finish what you were saying.” His voice was strangely soft and his eyes were luminous beneath their shaggy white brows. Joy’s answering tone was meek:
“I cannot, father. My … Mr.—Lord Athlyne desires that I should be silent.” She was astonished at his reply following:
“Well, perhaps he is right. Better so!” Then insotto voceto Athlyne:
“Women should not be allowed to talk sometimes. They go too far when they get to self-abasement!” Athlyne nodded. Again silence which Colonel Ogilvie broke:
“Well, sir. I suppose we must take it that the marriage is complete in Scotch law. So far for the past. What of the future?” In a low voice Athlyne replied:
“Whose future?”
“Yours—yours and my daughter’s.” He was amazed at Athlyne’s reply, spoken in a voice both low and sad: so too was Joy:
“Of that I cannot say. It does not rest with me.”
“Not rest with you, sir? Then with whom does it rest.” Athlyne raised his eyes and looked him straight in the face:
“With you!”
“With me?” the Colonel’s voice was faint with amazement.
“Yes, with you! What future have I, already condemned to death! What future has my wife, whose sentence of widowhood came even before the knowledge of her marriage! Do you forget Colonel Ogilvie that my life is pledged to you? On your own doing, I took that obligation; but having taken it I must abide by it. Such future as may be for either of us rests with you!” Colonel Ogilvie did not pause before answering. He spoke quickly as one whose mind is made up:
“But that is all over.” Athlyne said quietly:
“You had not said so! In an affair of this kind the challenged man is not free to act. Pacific overture must be with the one who considering himself injured has sought this means of redress.” Joy listening, with her heart sinking and her hand so trembling that she took it from his arm lest it should upset him, was amazed. He was at least as determined as her father. But she was rejoiced to see that his stiffness was having its effect; her father was evidently respecting this very quality so much that he was giving way to his opponent. Seeing this, and recognising in her woman’s way for the first time in her life this fundamental force, she made up her mind that she too would on her side keep steadfastly to her convictions just as … as … He had done. In silence she waited for what would follow this new development going on before her eyes. Presently Colonel Ogilvie spoke:
“I suppose Lord Athlyne you are satisfied with the validity of the marriage?” He answered heartily:
“Of course I am! The Sheriff was quite clear about it; and what he says is sufficient for me.”
“And your intention?”
“Sir, from the first moment when my eyes lit on your daughter I had only one intention, and that was to make her my wife. Be quite satisfied as to me! I am fixed as Fate! If there is any hindrance to my wishes it can only come from my wife. But understand this: that if for any cause whatever she may wish this marriage annulled, or consider that it has not been valid, she has only to indicate her wish and I shall take any step in my power to set her free.”
“Father!” Colonel Ogilvie turned in astonishment at the sound of his daughter’s voice, which was in such tone as he had never heard from her. It rang; her mind was made up:
“Father, a while ago when you seemed in some grave trouble I asked you why you did not ask me anything. I told you I had never lied to you and should not do so then; but you asked me nothing. Why don’t you ask me now?”
“What should I ask you, little girl. You are married; and your duty is to some one else whose name you bear. Besides, I don’t ask women questions which may be painful to answer. Such I ask of men!”
To this she spoke in a calm voice which made Athlyne uneasy. He could not imagine what she was coming at; but he felt that whatever it might be it was out of the truth of her nature, and that he must support her. Her love he never doubted. In the meantime he must listen patiently and learn what she had to say.
“Well father, as you will not ask I must speak unasked. It is harder; that is all. The Sheriff said that mutual intention was necessary for marriage. Let me tell you that I had not then such intention! I must say it. I have never lied to you yet; and I don’t intend to begin now. Especially when I am entering on a new life with a man whom I love and honour. For if this marriage be not good we shall soon have one that is—if he will have me.” Athlyne took her hand; she sighed joyfully as she went on:
“I certainly did intend to marry Mr. … Lord Athlyne when … when he should formally ask me; but I understood then that there was some obstacle to his doing so. This I now know to be that he was wanting to get your consent beforehand. But if I did not then intend that our coming for a run in the motor together was to be marriage, how can I by that act be married?” As she paused Athlyne realised what was the cause of that vague apprehension which had chilled him. Colonel Ogilvie was beset by a new difficulty by this new attitude of Joy. If she repudiated intention such would nullify the marriage, since Athlyne had signified his intention of letting her have her way. If there were no marriage, then there would be scandal. So before beginning to argue with his daughter on the subject of the validity of the marriage, he thought it well to bring to the aid of reason the forces of fear. He commenced by intimidation:
“Of course you understand, daughter, that if you and Lord Athlyne were not married through the accidents of your escapade, there will be scandal from it; there is no other alternative. In that case, such pacific measures as I have now acceded to will be abrogated; and the gentleman who was the cause of the evil must still answer to me for it.” At this threat Joy grew ghastly pale. Athlyne, wrung to the heart by it, forgot his intention of discretion and said quickly and sharply:
“That is not fair, Colonel Ogilvie. She is a woman—if sheisyour daughter, and is not to be treated brutally. You must not strike at a man through a woman. If you want to strike a man do so direct! I am the man. Strike me, how and when you will; but this woman is my wife—at least she is until she repudiates our marriage! But till then by God! no man—not even her father himself—shall strike her or at her, or through her!” Both he and Joy were surprised at the meek way in which the old man received this tirade. But even whilst he had been uttering the cruel threat both his conscience and his courage had been against him. This, the man and the woman who heard could, from evidence, divine. But there was another cause of which they had no knowledge. The moment after speaking, when his blind passion began to cool, the last words of his wife came back to his memory: “Be good to her, and never forget that she can suffer most through any one dear to her.” Furthermore, the recollection of Judy’s words as he was leaving clinched the matter: “You hold poor Joy’s life—which is her heart—in your hand!” He began his reply to Athlyne truculently—as was usual to him; but melted quickly as he went on:
“Hey-day my young bantam-cock; you flash your spurs boldly. … But I don’t know but you’re right. I was wrong; I admit it! Joy my dear I apologise for it; and to you too, sir, who stand up so valiantly and so readily for your wife. I am glad my little girl has such a defender; though it is and will be a sad thought to me that I was myself the first to cause its evidence. But keep your hair on, young man! Men sometimes get hurt by running up against something that’s quite in its right place. … It’s my place to look after my little girl—till such time as you have registered your bond-rights. And see, doesn’t she declare she had no idea she was being married. However, it’s all right in this case. I don’t mean her to give herself away over this part of the job any more than you did a while ago when you stopped her telling me something that it wouldn’t have been wise to say. So, sir, guess we’ll call it quits this time. Well, little girl, let me tell you that you’ve said all at once to me two different things. You said youdidn’tintend to marry Lord Athlyne that time, but that youdidat some other. If that last doesn’t make an intention to marry I’m a Dutchman. I think we’d better let it rest at that! Now as to you Lord Athlyne! You seem to want—and rightly enough I’ll allow—that I make a formal retraction of my demand for your life. Well I do so now. There’s my hand! I can give it to you freely, for you are a brave man and you love my little girl; and my little girl loves you. I’m right sorry I didn’t know you at the first as I do now. But I suppose the fact is, I was jealous all along. You don’t know—yet—what I know: that you were thrown at me in a lot of ways before I ever saw you, by the joke that my little girl and Judy put up on me. When I knew that my girl was calling herself by your name. …”
“Daddy dear!” This was Joy’s protest. “Yes, little girl, I won’t give you away; but your husband should know this fact lest he keep a grudge in his heart against your old daddy—and I know you wouldn’t like that. You can tell him, some of these days or nights, what you like yourself about the whole thing from the first. I dare say he’ll want to know, and won’t let you alone till you tell him. And I dare say not then; for he’ll like—he’s bound to—all you can say. Here, Athlyne—I suppose that’s what I am to call you since you’re my son now—at any rate my daughter’s husband.” As he spoke he held out his hand. Athlyne jumped forward and seized it warmly. The two men shook hands as do two strong men who respect each other. Joy stepped forward and took the clasped hands between her own. When the hands parted she kissed her husband and then her father; she had accepted the situation.
After a pause Athlyne said, quietly but with a very resolute look on his face:
“I understand, sir, that the hatchet is now buried. But I want to say that this must be final. I do so lest you should ever from any cause wish to dig it up again. Oh, yes I understand”—for the Colonel was going to speak “but I have had a warning. Just now when it seemed that Joy was going to repudiate—though happily as it turned out for only a time—our marriage as an existing fact, you re-opened that matter which I had then thought closed. Now as for the future Joy’s happiness is my duty as well as my privilege and my pleasure, I must take all precautions which I can to insure it. It would not do if she could ever have in her mind a haunting fear that you and I could quarrel. I know that for my own part I would be no party to a quarrel with you. But I also have reason to know that a man’s own purpose is nothing when some one else wants to quarrel with him. Therefore for our dear Joy’s sake——”
“Good!” murmured the Colonel. “Ourdear Joy’s sake!” Athlyne repeated the phrase—he loved to do so:
“For our dear Joy’s sake will you not promise that you will never quarrel with me.”
“Indeed I will give the promise—and more. Listen here, little girl, for it is for your sake. I find I have been wrong to quarrel so readily and without waiting to understand. If a nigger did it I think I’d understand, for I don’t look for much from him. But I do expect much from myself; and therefore I’ll go back a bit and go a bit farther. Hear me promise, so help me God, I’ll never quarrel again! Quarrel to kill I mean of course. Now, sir, are you satisfied!” Joy flung herself into his arms cooing lovingly:
“Dear, dear Daddy. Oh thank you so much; you have made me so happy! That promise is the best wedding-gift you could possibly give me!” Athlyne took the hand extended to him and wrung it heartily:
“And I too, thank you, sir. And, as I want to share in all Joy’s happiness and in her pleasant ways, I hope you will let me—as her husband—call you Daddy too?”
“Indeed you may, my boy; I’ll be right glad!”
It was a happy trio that stood there, the two men’s right hands clasping, and Joy once more holding the linked hands between hers.
“We may go join the Sheriff and Judy I think, little girl!” said the Colonel presently. He felt that he wanted to get back to himself from the unaccustomed atmosphere of sentiment which encompassed him.
“Just one moment—Daddy!” said Athlyne speaking the familiar name with an effort and looking at Joy as he did so. The approval shining from her beautiful eyes encouraged him, and he went on more freely:
“Now that our dear Joy is my care I should like to make a proposition. The Sheriff’s suggestion is good, and his reading of the law seems as if it were all right; but, after all, there is no accounting for what judges and juries may decide. Now I want—and we all want—that there be no doubt about this marriage—now or hereafter. And I therefore suggest that presently Joy and I shall again exchange Matrimonial Intention and Consent, or whatever is the strongest way that can be devised to insure a flawless marriage. We can even write this down and both sign it, and you and the Sheriff and Judy shall witness. So that whatever has been before—though this will not disturb it—will be made all taut and secure!” Joy’s comment was:
“And I shall be married to my husband a second time!”
“Yes, darling” said Athlyne putting his arm round her and drawing her close to him. She came willingly and put her arms round him. They embraced and kissed each other and he said:
“Yes darling; but wait a moment, I have a further suggestion. In addition to this we can have a ‘regular’ marriage to follow these two irregular ones. I shall go to London and get a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is a connection of my own. With this we shall have a religious marriage to supplement the civil ones. We can be married, sir, in your own rooms, or in a church, just as Joy wishes—and, of course, as her mother and her Daddy wish. We can be married the third time, Joy darling, in Westminster Abbey if you so desire!”
“Anywhere you choose—darling!” she spoke the last word shyly “will be what I wish. I am glad I am to be married three times to you.”
“Why darling?”
“Because darling” she spoke the word now without shyness or hesitation. “I love you enough for three husbands; and now we must have three honeymoons!” she danced about the room gaily, clapping her hands like a happy child.
When they were ready to go to breakfast Colonel Ogilvie instinctively offered his arm to Joy, but catching sight of Athlyne drew back and motioned to him to take the honourable place. The husband was pleased, but seeing a new opening for conciliation he said heartily:
“No, no. I hope the time will never come when my wife won’t love to go with her father!” The old man was pleased and called to his daughter:
“Come, little girl, you have got to take us both!” She took her husband’s arm as well as her father’s; and all three moved towards the door. When they got there, however, some change was necessary, for it was not possible to pass through three abreast. Each of the men was willing to give place to the other; but before either man could move, or indeed before either had his mind made up what to do, the quicker-witted woman slipped back behind them. There taking Athlyne’s hand in hers she had placed it on her father’s arm. As they both were about to protest against going in front of her she said hastily:
“Please, please Daddy and … Husband I would really rather you two went first, and arm in arm as father and son should go. For that is what it is to be from this on; isn’t it? I would rather a thousand times see the two men I love best in all the world going so, than walk in front of them as a Queen.”
“That’s very prettily said!” was the comment of her father. Then with a fond look back at her he took the young man’s hand from his own arm and placed his own hand on the other’s arm. “That’s better!” he said. “Age leaning on Youth, and Beauty smiling on both!”
And in this wise they entered the Sheriff’s room, in time to see him sitting at one end of the sofa and Judy sitting at the furthest corner away from him—blushing.
Asthe 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, is 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 bythreedifferent 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: