CHAPTER I

The mail had brought from Nice a cardboard box of flowers. The study was hot and close despite the open windows, so when I opened it the scent of the roses filled the air with a new fragrance. I took out the spray on the top, a magnificent cluster of great pink Bengal roses; but the day of glory of this kind is a short one, and the journey was long; the mere motion of lifting the spray finished the work of destruction. I held in my hand only a bare stock, whilst the moss green carpet was scattered with the great petals of the flowers.

And then a flood of memory rushed over me, aided by that best of mnemonics, a once-known perfume. I lit a cigar, and as I sat in my easy chair with the roses beside me the light of the July evening paled and paled till I sat alone in the darkness. Twenty years of hopes, struggles, and success were obliterated and I lived again an old chapter of my boy's life, which contained the fragments of a romance. All came back so vividly that time and space were annihilated. I did not merely remember; once more the things were! Ah, me! that chapter of boyish love and of jealousy, which has neither youth nor age! Once again I remember how these things worked into other lives, and then I lived the past again.

* * * * * * *

A sweet old garden of a country rectory, with the trellis covered with luxuriant Bengal roses. Hard by, and some prim old trees of yew and juniper, and arbor vitae. But the rose trellis was, of old, the most sweet, and is now most full of memories.

Beside it some former incumbent had placed an old Greek marble seat. This was always a favourite haunt of mine, and here I'm mainly learned my lessons and also studied such romances as were available. Being a delicate child I had been sent to live with rector, so that I might get plenty of exercise and fresh air and country living. Mr. Petersen was an old man, and, although never a brilliant scholar, was an excellent teacher for such a lad as I was. Mrs. Petersen was nearly as old as her husband, and as their circumstances were not good, I have no doubt that though the money that my parents paid was hardly earned, it was a welcome addition to the housekeeping. There was but one servant in the house; the gardener attended to the cows and pigs and my pony, these being the only animals kept. After a while I grew quite strong and hardy, and by myself took long walks and rides all around the country. It was my habit to study the county map which hung in the hall, and to so arrange my rambles and that by degrees I came to have a local topographical knowledge certainly not possessed by my tutor, whose age and circumstances, and whose habits of a quiet, retired life debarred him from such exercises. I had no companion of my own age, except when at home in London, for at Westoby Puerorum the children were few, and of such a kind that I had but little in common with them. We met at Sunday school, and as I did not care for their horseplay, and got disgusted with their perpetual lying, they voted me a muff, and left me alone – after I had proved in one or two pitched battles that at any rate I was not a coward.

I was about twelve years old when there came an addition to our circle in the shape of a granddaughter of Mrs. Petersen by her first marriage, an orphan, with neither home nor friends. Before she came there were anxious discussions between the old people as to the probable result of her coming. It was evident there was some old cause for anxiety, and once I heard a remark which puzzled me. It was made by Mrs. Petersen: –

“It is so good of you, Edward, and, my dear, I see through all your sweet forbearance; but it is not right that you should be troubled with folk that don't belong to you. Arabella always took her own way in spite of me – and of her poor father – and may be her daughter will want to do the same. We have lived too peacefully, you and I, dear, all these years to be willing to let any disturbance come through someone we never saw,” and the old lady wiped away a quiet tear.

“Nay, my dear,” said the rector, “I might well say, as Ruth said to Naomi, ‘Thy people shall be my people.’ And, my dear, your God and mine is hers also, and we are all children of His family. Let the little girl come. I doubt not that He will watch over and mould all things to good purpose.” And so it was that Bella Devanti came to us.

I do not think that anyone was so pleased at the idea of her coming as I was. The old people at concern for the future, and the maid, who saw in prospect more waiting and more cooking and washing and another bed to make, grumbled to the gardener, who, though he had no prospect of added work, grumbled sympathetically. For me there was no concern. In those days I suppose I took it for granted, as other boys do, then beds are made and victuals cooked and clothes washed by some dispensation of providence specially arranged for the benefit of boys. The young bird when it opens its mouth where the provender abided by the parents’ instinct takes little thought of whence or how it comes. The thinking belongs to a later period, when there are other little beaks open and other tiny voices that clamor at need.

When Arabella Devanti arrived I proceeded with the simple, selfish directness of a schoolboy to fall in love with her, despite the great gulf of five years fixed between us. In this I was not alone, for the feeling was shared in common but the whole household. Even the maid and the gardener gave in, and, as is the wont of such, changed the form or cause of their grumbling, for of course of grumbling was perennial. When Maria, that was the maid, found that Miss Devanti insistent on making her own bed and looking after herself, as she alleged that she had always done, and began straightway to take apart in the labor of the household, she grew almost rebellious. Finally a compromise was arranged, to the effect that Bella was to be allowed to help in the cooking if she left the rougher domestic work to Maria. Her pretty little foreign ways became a new pleasure in the household, and there was, I am bound to say, a marked improvement in the cuisine. She used to do things with eggs that I dream of yet.

Bella and I became at once great friends. She helped me with my lessons, and taught me music and drawing; and I taught her to ride my pony, and to play cricket, and le-gras, and other games of an old-fashioned kind, which were a tradition in the rectory. We used to sit every day, when the weather was fine on the old marble seat; and the Bengal roses, all summer long, used to keep shedding their great petals over the green moss beneath. There I learned my lessons; Bella was a good mistress, for she would not allow any trifling or inattention. I began to feel, after a while, that her sway was a strong one, and that if I wanted her to do anything I must begin by being master of my work.

Quite three years passed in this way, and I was now a good sized lump of a boy, and began to fancy myself a man. In school this feeling generally finds an outlet in a plentitude of hats, and a choice of neckties; but in our rustic life there was no such outlet, and even the increase of my passion for Bella did not move me to try to add to my attractions in her eyes. She was always most kind to me, and there was between us a genuine affection. She used to tell me all her little secrets, and I to tell her mine. Still, I never felt quite satisfied. There was not that complete abandonment or effacement of herself – that losing her own individuality in that of the other – which the masculine lover, even from his cradle, seems to demand. There always was for her, even in those day dreams which she shared with me, to be some order of things other than present, something to come yet of quite a different kind to that which existed. Indeed, some unknown individual was to make his appearance was to charm us both by his worth and beauty and the gallantry of his bearing. With a seeming generosity she always insisted on giving me a portion of the pleasure of his society, and on my angry remonstrance and disclaimer to share at all in his hateful presence she would laugh softly through her blushes, and then, after a while, tried to soothe me by some added deference to my wishes – my wishes regarding something else. As a matter fact I grew intensely jealous, and the keen eyes of jealousy found food everywhere and in everything. Although I loved Bella more than ever, I began to have moments of what I believed to be hate for her also.

It was at this time that we had a break in the monotony of our lives at Westoby Puerorum. Our squire had in his youth been a pupil of Mr. Petersen. Indeed, it was after the young squire went to college that the old squire presented him to the living; and whenever the young squire – now the squire himself, and no longer young – came to Westoby Grange he always managed to pay a visit to his old tutor. This necessitated something of a drive, for the Grange was in Westoby Magnus, and was distant some eight miles. He had been away for a long time, for his winters were spent abroad, and she had several other estates, so that his summers were divided. He chiefly lived at a place nearly two-hundred miles away, where the ground was high and the air more bracing. This time he had only a small party at the Grange, and when he rode over to see Mr. Petersen he took with him a young gentleman to whom at first I took a liking. It was only when I found that Bella had taken a liking to him also that I began to recognise in him certain evil qualities. He seemed as frank as a boy for all that he was a captain in a crack cavalry regiment. He was sitting on the marble seat between Bella and me before either of us seemed to realise the fact that he was only a stranger after all. Even after I had begun to realise his bad qualities – and perhaps to invent some for him also – I could not but like him. He was such a handsome fellow, so bright and cheery, and with such a winning manner, that I could not help it; but I could not forgive Bella for liking him also, and the more jealous I grew up him the more unreasonably angry I became with her. He did not remain very long, for the squire's visit was but a flying one; but before he went he promised to ride over from Cotterham, where he was quartered, and to bring me some flies of his own tying, which he had found most effective in the waters of our county. When he had gone, Bella and I sat under the Bengal roses and talked of him in the shade from the afternoon sun. It angered me whenever Bella found new points to admire in him, and so after a while I began to turn the conversation. It was now getting on for sunset, and it was our habit to take the clouds round the setting sun as a garden wherein to found our romances. This evening, with some instinct or intention, I grew more definite than ever in my description of the hero who was to come, making him in every essential the exact opposite to Captain Chudleign, even to the extent of making him a great noble instead of a “honourable” and a younger son, which the captain was. Bella would not give her own views as to what the hero should be like, but she differed with me point by point as we went along. This made me very angry, and in my boyish petulance I stood up and said to her passionately: —

“I believe you're in love with him, Bella! Take him if you want to! I don't care!” I was striding off when she rose up and ordered me so imperiously to come back that, without thinking of any opposition to her wishes, I returned to the seat. She had sat down again; her face was very pale and her dark eyes were blazing. She held her hands for a moment clasped over her heart, and then after a pause said to me: —

“Robert” – this was cutting, for hitherto she had never called me anything but “Bobby” – “Robert, you have no right to say such a thing to me – to anybody. You are born a gentleman, and nothing could justify such an affront. I take it now that you do not know better, and that you were angry, though what cause of anger there is I fail to see. But such a thing must never occur again! You are getting old enough to think for yourself.” I was crushed. “Getting old enough!” – “getting!” I who had for years been nurturing a passion for grown-up woman! It left me speechless.

I sat silent a while, and felt myself grow red and white by turns; and then a gush of some feeling came over me, and despite all I could do the tears came to my eyes and ran through the fingers which I held before my face. In an instant Bella changed, and spoke to me lovingly, entreating pardon, and trying, as she spoke, to take away my hands. I repulsed her, and would have risen and run away, but that she held me tight. I suppose the difference in our ages became then more marked than it had ever been, for, with sudden impulse, I threw myself on my knees on the grass beside her, and, hiding my head in her lap, had my cry out, whilst she tenderly stroked my hair, silent all the time, with the instinct of a true woman.

We seemed better friends than ever after that night. I could not but feel that there had come some sort of chasm between us: but the recognition of such a thing was the first step to its bridging, and although I said no more of any feeling which might be between her and Captain Chudleigh I tacitly recognised such a thing as possible and respected it.

Less than a week elapsed before Captain Chudleigh paid his promised visit, and when he came Bella was the one who seemed to avoid him, whilst he and I grew great friends. We all three sat under the roses after luncheon – we called it lunch to strangers, but it was in reality our dinner – and were together all the time except for half an hour when I was rummaging in the attic for an old book of etchings by Piranesi which Bella thought she had seen there some months before. I did not find it, however, and when I came back they were both silent, and he was just about taking his leave. They had quite forgotten about the book I offered to ride a part of the way with Captain Chudleigh, and he acquiesced heartily, although I thought I saw him make a queer kind of face to Bella when he thought I was not looking. He was silent for a while after we had started, but presently he grew quite gay and laughed and sang and made jokes to me as we rode along. When it was time for me to return he promised that he would ride over again some day soon. When I got back I found Bella still sitting under the roses, and so abstracted that she started when I spoke to her.

Some days afterwards I got a line from Cotterham, saying that Captain Chudleigh would on the following day ride over to lunch with the squire; and that he would, if he might, look into the rectory on his way back, when perhaps Miss Devanti and I would give him a cup of tea under the roses. He came, and we had tea on the marble seat. Mrs. Petersen not being very well had lain down, and the rector was writing his sermon for the next day. It was a very pleasant afternoon, and we all enjoyed ourselves. When the sun was setting Bella sent me to look if Captain Chudleigh's horse had been cared for, and I went willingly, for he rode beautiful horses. When I came back Bella and the captain sat silent at either end of the seat, he with a rose in his buttonhole which had not been there before. This gave me a new pang jealousy, and I did not offer to ride part of his way, although I had been looking forward for the last twenty-four hours to the pleasure of so doing. Bella and I said but little to each other that evening.

The next day I went out for a long walk, taking my lunch with me, as I usually did on such occasions. This expedition had been planned nearly a week before, for I was to explore an old ruin which I had never visited, and Bella had taken much interest in it. When I got so far as I could on the high road I went to strike across country; but in leaping my first ditch I turned my ankle, and had to abandon my expedition, for that day at all events. However, I ate my lunch, and when I felt sufficiently recovered began my journey home. It was very tiring and my ankle pained me much, so that when I got into our own grounds I was thoroughly fagged out. The afternoon sun was beating strongly down, and the shade of the trellised roses, with the cool, green moss, looked so inviting that I lay down and forthwith fell asleep.

I waked to hear voices on the other side of the thick trellis – Bella's voice and Captain Chudleigh's! They were whispering; but, low as their voices were, I could hear distinctly, and what I heard made my heart beat and my ears tingle. He was telling Bella of his love for her, and she murmured an answer that satisfied him, and then I heard their kiss. Boy as I was I knew that I had no right to be there, and so I crawled away out of earshot, being careful to keep the trellis between us, and reached my own room without anyone seeing me. I lay down on my bed, with my heart and my temples throbbing, and felt anew all the pangs of jealousy with despair added. I waited there till the evening fell, and then, when I knew I would meet no one, left the house and came round to the front door, making what noise I reasonably could, and limped in to where the family were at supper. They were all concerned when they heard my accident, which I took care not to say had taken place early in the day. Fortunately the pain and fatigue accounted for my pale face and nervous manner. Bella wanted herself to bathe my ankle, but I insisted that Maria should do it. She was looking so radiantly happy that I could not bear the sight of her.

All the next day Bella was very sweet, and we sat on the marble seat, I with my ankle bandaged on a chair in front of me. As the day wore on I expected that Bella would make some confidence, and I was by that time prepared – after some upbraiding – to give her my sympathy and approval. Self-love demanded that the occasion should not pass unnoticed. But the confidence never came, and I grew resolved that if she chose to keep her secret she might, and that I also would keep mine. The only satisfaction I had – and when I look back on it I think it was a pretty mean one – was that I would not let her do the smallest service for my lame ankle. On this point I was as doggedly resolved as I could be about anything.

Bella's secrecy seemed to me not a negative but positive thing. I almost began to think that she had told me a falsehood, and to imagine all sorts of things. Being ever on the watch I did detect now and then some small acts of secretiveness rendered necessary by her possession of so big a secret. For instance towards the end of the week there came a letter which made her blush and her breast heave, but she never said a word of it. Of course, I pretended not to notice. That night I lay awake thinking of it, and as I lay awake I heard a very low whistle. I rose softly and looked out of the window. I heard a stir in Bella's room, which was next to mine, and in a few minutes I saw her step out of the porch – the door was never locked or bolted at the rectory – and steal softly in the direction of the rose trellis. This struck me as so strange that, in spite of the sense of the meanness of the act, I determined to see what it all meant. My jealousy had already told me, but I wanted to be sure. I stole softly to the back of the trellis. There was a yellow moon, and the shadows were black so I came close unnoticed. There I heard the voice I expected and feared to hear, and which if I had not heard what have disappointed me.

Captain Chudleigh's voice was resonant and resolute, and there was in it something of a triumph, but Bella's voice was faint and tremulous, nevertheless it was sweet, sweeter than ever, with a thrill in it which I had never heard before, and which made me as I listened grow cold with despair, although my heart flamed anew with jealousy. I heard Captain Chudleigh say: —

“I have got it – the bishop's secretary got it for me – and now we can be married where and when we will!” There was no answer; but she evidently drew close to him, for I heard the sound of a kiss – a long one. Then she said: —

“Oh! Reggy, is it necessary that we keep it a secret? It will pain my grandfather and my grandmother so much, and they have been so good to me!” His answer was given with decision.

“My dear Bella, it is necessary. My father would not allow our marriage if he knew of it in time. You see, neither of my two brothers has any family, and the governor says that as I have no fortune I must marry money, and as I might succeed I must marry rank.” Bella said, shyly:

“Then, Reggy, we had better say goodbye. Here! Now! If all our parents are against us, where can our happiness lie?” Reggy evidently drew her to him as he whispered, tenderly:

“But we love each other, Bella: and the governor will forgive us when we are married,” and there was much more to the same effect. Then Captain Chudleigh took out a paper and read it to her in the moonlight. I can see that his arm was round her as they stood in the moonlight, hidden from the house by the yew tree behind the marble seat. When they showed signs of going I lay down close, close behind the trellis, for I was afraid to stir lest they should see me. After some efforts and many good-byes Bella tore herself away, but not before Reginald Chudleigh had secured her promise that she would meet him at Mirkenfield church at seven in the morning on the second day following.

When Bella had stolen back to her room her lover stood looking after her, and I heard him mutter a low curse – an angry, dissatisfied curse on himself – and then as he turned away I heard him say it: —

“Poor little girl! Poor little girl! It is too devilish bad! So sweet and trustful! If I didn't love her so; or if I had more money!” And then I lost sight of him as he passed into the shadowy darkness of the trees.

After a while I, too, stole back to my bed. My mind was in a turmoil, but through all its murkiness I remember a fixed resolution in my heart – that I, too, would be at Mirkenfield, for I felt that some wrong wasn't intended to Bella. I knew the place, for I had two or three times been over there. It was a tiny village, which time and desertion from economic causes had made tinier still. The church was an old one almost in ruins, which was left always open since no one ever went into it between Sunday and Sunday.

* * * * * * *

CHAPTER II

The next day when we sat together on the old marble seat Bella was very tender with me. I was full of emotion myself, for, now that I was sure that she loved another – vanity is so great in boys that I still held myself to be a rival – I could find it in my heart to be very tender to her. Once or twice I mentioned the name of Mirkenfield's, but when I saw that she held her peace, though the quick blush betrayed her somewhat, I said no more, but waited.

As she said good-night that evening Bella's voice and manner were full of tenderness, and as she lay in her room I heard her more than once sob. That night was like a never-ending nightmare to me, and I sometimes wondered whether it was not all a dream.

It was nearly ten miles to Mirkenfield, so at the earliest glint of dawn I rose, under the impression that I had not slept, and stole downstairs. I heard the clock strike four as I stepped out of the porch, keeping out of sight of Bella's window. As I had not heard Bella stir I took it that she was still asleep. I went into the fields, for I did not want anyone to see me, and at length struck the road beyond the nine clump. There, before me on the road, I saw hurrying along none other than Bella! I slipped into the wood again, and ran and walked as quickly as I could so that I might get well ahead without her seeing me. As I knew the shortcuts I easily effected this object, and within some two and a half hours arrived within sight of Mirkenfield. Then I slipped into the fields and woods again, and came round to the back of the church. Keeping round the corner I saw two men waiting, carefully hidden behind a great clump of yew trees from the sight of any casual stranger passing on the road. One of them was Captain Chudleigh, and the other was the groom whom I had seen with him when he wrote over to Westoby Grange.

Captain Chudleigh had only just arrived, and was making inquiries from the groom. From their secretive manner, however, and the mysterious way they looked round them, I came to the conclusion that there was some mischief on foot, and so I stole softly behind the yew trees and listened. I heard the master say: —

“Is he here?”

“Yes, sir: in the vestry. I was afraid he might be seen and it would not do as he is a stranger.”

“Has he all the properties which he requires?”

“Yes, sir; his surplice and bands and the bogus registry book, and all. He is fly one, sir, up to every move on the board. But beg pardon, sir. He says he must have the cash beforehand. He didn't want no credit but the spondoolicks down. Them was his very words.”

“Here it is. You share it, I suppose?” and he threw disdainfully to the groom a bag which chinked as the latter caught it.

“There,” he said, “take it and be sure you clear out as quick as you can. Remember it is a penal servitude for the pair of you if it should come out afterwards.”

“All right, sir. No chance of anything going wrong. No one ever goes into the old church, and it being a church – she – the lady won't have no suspicion. My eye, sir, but he's a clever one at fixing things.”

“Take care it is all right. Be here to witness as the clock strikes. In the meantime look after the horses while I go up the road to meet her. Then he murmured again as he had done that night:

“All right! indeed. All wrong! And a nice pack scoundrels we are, with me the biggest of them!”

I began to realize to the full the cruel wrong that was intended, and my mind was made up what I should do. I stole away from the yews, and when I was out of earshot ran up to the parson's house, which was across the graveyard from the church. I rang the bell softly and waited with my heart in my mouth. The door was opened by the parson's locum tenens, a tall, powerful, fresh-coloured young man, with a frank eye and a strong, resolute jaw.

I gasped out, “May I see you at once, and privately?” He eyed me for a moment and with a look which began with a smile and ended with a frown, and said, quickly:

“Come in here, my boy!” and threw open the study door, which he shut carefully behind him. “Now,” he said, “tell me frankly what it is, and without fear.”

I told him who I was and then what I knew and suspected. He interrupted me but once, when he said, angrily:

“The scoundrels, and in the very church, too. Well, we shall see!” When I had finished he said:

“You have done very wisely in coming to me, and at once. Come with me now, and do not say anything unless I ask you. This is a case when we must both be silent and discrete – for the present at all events.” He hurried across the churchyard, walking on the grass so that his footsteps would not sound. I followed him. He opened the vestry door quickly and we went in. As the door opened a man turn round to us, a clean-shaven man, who had on a surplice and bands, and whose face had an evil, crafty look. He grew very pale when he came in, and glanced around hurriedly as for a way of escape. The parson strode forward, and with a wrestler's grip caught him by the throat, and motioning me to open the door took him and pushed him before him right across the churchyard and into his own study. At first the man tried to struggle; but he very soon gave up the idea as he felt how powerless he was in the grasp of the athletic young parson, and he was evidently afraid to cry out. When we were in the study his captor made him sit down, and then said: —

“Now tell me all about it.” The fellow threw himself upon his knees and began a confession of how he had been employed to take part in a mock marriage. As he was speaking, the clock on the mantel chimed the quarter to seven, so the parson stopped him: —

“There is no time to lose. I shall tie you up and leave you here for a while. If you try to struggle or cry out I shall at once take you myself to the nearest police-station, and give you in charge. In the meantime I shall see how matters go, and then decide how I shall deal with you.” He then got some cord and tied up the fellow most scientifically, gaging him with a gag extemporized from a handkerchief. He then put on his surplice; and, coming out, locked the study door behind him. He called to his housekeeper, and told her to come quietly into the church as the clock struck the hour, and to bring the gardener with her. Then, telling me to come with him, he went back across the churchyard. He told me to remain in the vestry, but to look at the service through the door held partially open, and to remain unseen as long as I could.

Presently I saw Bella and Captain Chudleigh come into the church, followed a little after by the groom, who sat in a corner behind a pillar. Then, but a minute later, there came, unobserved by Bella or Captain Chudleigh, an old man and woman, who I surmised to be the housekeepr and the gardener. When the groom saw them he sheared off a little, so as to keep the pillar between them and himself. The parson stepped out from the vestry. When the groom saw him he started and grew very pale. He half rose as if to move off, but the parson, who had to pass close to him, said: —

“You are a witness, I suppose. Come up close!” And thenceforward he kept an eye on him to see that he did not run away. When the bridal pair stood before the Communion rails the parson said: —

“You have a license from the Bishop, I understand; show it to me.” Captain Chudleigh took it from his pocket and handed it to him. He read it through carefully and then asked him: —

“Are you the Hon. Captain Reginald Chudleigh, bachelor, mentioned in this document?”

“I am.” Then turning to Bella he asked:

“Are you the Arabella Devanti, spinster, mentioned herein?”

“I am.”

Then he proceeded with the marriage service. As there was no one to give away the bride he performed that function himself. As Chudleigh answered “I will” his voice faltered and he grew very, very pale, but Bella's voice was low and clear and fraught with love as she made her acceptance.

When the service was over the parson said a few brief words, hoping that the marriage performed that day might lead to peace here and hereafter, and exhorted the married pair that they should trust each other and be ever true. He finished with a solemn warning that they had that day undertaken a new life, and that whatever wrongs and faults had been should be now forgotten, except to afford them a light and a warning against evils to come. Whilst this short homily was being delivered Captain Chudleigh looked ill at ease and impatient, and now and again bit his lips; but he controlled himself, and was silent.

Then they came into the vestry, and I hid behind a surplice hanging on the wall. On the table were the great volumes of the registry which the parson had taken from the chest, and in the one of marriages the young parson proceeded to write the new marriage. He had beckoned the two old people to come along with the groom, and said, as he asked them to sign:

“Witnesses are necessary by law, so I have asked these two who were present to add their names.” So they both signed, Captain Chudleigh again repressing his impatience. Then the groom and the old people went out, and Captain Chudleigh, who had begun to have an anxious look on his face, turning to Bella, said:

“Will you wait a moment in the church, my dear, whilst I say a word to the clergyman?” Bella smiled at him lovingly, and saying as she shook her finger at him archly, “Don't be long,” went out and waited in the church. So soon as she was gone Captain Chudleigh closed the vestry door, and, coming close to the clergyman, said to him in a low voice: —

“Is it all right?”

“Yes; it is all right!” answered the other, with an exceedingly firm, not to say aggressive, manner.

“All is as arranged?”

“All as it should be.”

“Then my man will pay you the sum agreed on. He has the money. The books, are they all right?”

“Quite right!” Captain Chudleigh began to move to the door, but he looked ill at ease, and his manner was a hanging dog manner. As he put his hand on the latch to open it the parson spoke:

“Captain Chudleigh!” He turned and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

“Captain Chudleigh, are you satisfied that you are duly and solemnly married?”

Chudleigh let go the latch and came close as he asked, angrily, in a low voice:

“What the devil do you mean?”

“I mean this,” said the other, unconsciously throwing himself into a fighting attitude, for his college days were too recent to be easily forgotten, “that you came here with the intention of committing a foul and dastard wrong to a sweet and innocent woman, and of committing it by the help of the machinery of the Church and the law, and in the very shadow of God's own House. But God be praised! Your wickedness was known in time, and you are now as surely and securely married as can be by the Church's law and the law of the land. Oh, man, have you no shame – no remorse? You are young! You cannot be all hard and bad! It is not too late! You have a sweet and good wife, though in not confiding in her relatives she has run a fearful risk, and for her sake I shall be silent so far as I can. But go down on your knees and thank the Almighty that He has vouchsafed in His mercy to save you from the actual commission of such a grievous sin – though the moral guilt be heavy on you all the same.”

For half a minute Captain Chudleigh hung his head, and a dark scowl spread over his face; but then the man in him asserted itself, and with a fierce stamp of his foot, as if he was crushing something evil, he said:

“You are right! I am a black-hearted scoundrel, and unfit to tie the shoe of that sweet woman. But, thank God! it has not been too late. Let me tell you – though I can't expect you to believe me – that I was as miserable over this dastard act as a man could be, and to the last day of my life I shall thank you for having saved her – and me!”

“Do not thank me,” said the young clergyman, moved. “Thank Almighty God, and hereafter in your life show by your deeds that you are grateful for so great a mercy. And thank also one other, only for whose quick thought and energy this evil would have been wrought.” Chudleigh turned quickly.

“Tell me who it is, so that I may give him thanks.”

“You can thank him when he's a man. He is only a boy now.”

“Bobby? God bless him!”

“And now, Captain Chudleigh, join your wife; and take my advice – go straight with her to her uncle, and tell him of the marriage. I shall deal with those scoundrels of yours so that they may not try to blackmail you. Your conduct – your later conduct – has made one willing to help you. Send the groom to me presently; and, let me advise you, get rid of him as soon as you can. He is a dangerous man.” But Chudleigh would not go at once.

“No!” said he, “I have a duty to my wife; and it had better begin now. I shall have no secrets from her! Let me tell her all, and then, if she will forgive me, we can begin life afresh.”

So the parson took me into the graveyard, and we stayed there nearly half an hour, till Bella came and called me in. Her eyes were swollen with crying; but despite it, she looked happy, and Chudleigh's face was also not without its traces of deep emotion. Bella thanked the parson, and held his hand whilst she did so; and then she took me in her arms and kissed me, but said never a word: she knew what I understood. Then the Captain came and held out his hand, and said with a tremor in his voice:

“Won't you shake hands, Bobby? Bella has forgiven me, or I would not dare to ask!” So we shook hands.

Then Bella and her husband drove back to Westoby Puerorum and I walked back as quickly as I could; but they had gone before I arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Petersen were beginning to realise what had happened.

I suppose the young parson took strong measures with the rascals and frightened them effectually, for they went away and were never troublesome.

And now Bella is a countess, and her husband and children adore her. And on the anniversary of her wedding day she and her husband always send me a bunch of roses from wherever they may be. If there are no roses then they send some other flower that has memories – perhaps lest any of us should forget.