Part 5

The cold morning light was growing brighter and more encouraging as, after drawing the boat high on to the shingle, the trio proceeded quickly toward a certain white and towered edifice. As might be expected, this was their goal--a church. Lyndis looked rather blankly as they approached this termination, and lagged behind with Roscoria.

"Would you two mind walking in front?" sang out Tregurtha without looking round, but with a sternness caused by his sense of complicity. They did so, and the wedding procession moved on much quicker.

At the church gate they were greeted by Eric Rodda, the curate here. He was so ingeniously unselfish (_i.e._ self-tormenting) a man that he had insisted on being the one to give his loved Lyndis to the man she loved.

"Well, every man has his particular fancy; but it puts _me_ in a precious unpopular position," Roscoria had thought, whilst accepting the magnanimity.

"All right?" asked Rodda then of his patients, victims, clients, or whatever those wights are called on whom the parson pronounces the matrimonial benediction.

"For the present," replied Roscoria.

"Then come along," said Eric, and he led the way into the little rustic church. It was a picturesque old-fashioned place, evidently the resort of the ritualistic, for there were lighted candles on the altar and great bunches of scented flowers. The flowers lent a charm to the church and gave a memory of the fresh outer air, from which one is apt to feel so desolately shut out when encased within consecrated walls. The candles, also, were much needed, for the windows were stained in such deep red and purple tints that an early morning sun could hardly pierce the painting. The people present at this unconventional wedding were, besides the chief couple and their "best man," Tregurtha, Eric, the parson, who now surged gorgeously in from the vestry with flowing gown and ponderous prayer-book; the elderly and orthodox clerk or verger, who followed with a mien of severe desire to see a tiresome ceremony properly performed; then, lastly, an aged crone, of the sweeping and dusting persuasion, on whose neck Lyndis would fain have wept, in default of another woman. But our brides shed no tears nowadays. The times are undemonstrative, and thus the drooping veil, whose original use was to conceal unbecoming traces of tears, now only serves to soften the marble rigidity of resignation. Who that has once seen it can ever forget the Iphigenia-like air of beauty at the hymeneal! And then the wretched bridegroom! Whether he stands trembling before the statuesque bride, or kneeling, with the shiny soles of his patent-leather boots in view, what an advertisement to his bachelor friends against matrimony!

The present wedding was more cheery than most, however. Roscoria was fairly cool, but that was partly because he had not been able to afford a new coat for the auspicious occasion. Lyndis, to be sure, thought she was marrying (unlike the generality of brides) a man she loved, and this, moreover, in defiance of her guardian's wishes--a circumstance which must have lent an additional charm to the deed--Lyndis stood looking white, white and terrified; all her own rashness and the inevitable uncertainty of her future filling her thoughts. Her head was bent and her fingers clasped, and nervously bent back; she was retaining every atom of her self-control, but saying what she had to say mechanically, with a low voice, like the echo of her own sighing through cloister aisles.

"Cheer up, my darling!" said Louis in an audible whisper, just as the clergyman opened his mouth.

"Dearly beloved--_hush!_" began Eric Rodda; and even Lyndis, with all her chastened "amazement," could not resist a smile.

Tregurtha had given the bride away; Roscoria had at last found the ring, wrapped carefully up in his fly-book; names had been duly signed with atrocious pens in the vestry; and the bridegroom saluted the bride. But to do this last it was not essential to call in the verger as a witness, so the young people left Tregurtha and Rodda behind and took a merry run in the sunshine, down-hill toward the village. And as they danced along on the dewy grass, with their arms interlaced and their laughing improvident young faces upturned one to the other, they turned a sharp corner and Lyndis gave a little scream of horror, for she had nearly fallen into the arms of the admiral!

As long as he lives Roscoria swears, he shall never forget how he was feeling whilst Lyndis shrank back with outstretched averting hands, exclaiming tremulously:

"My dearest uncle! this--this is an unexpected pleasure!"

"Lyndis Villiers--you wretched woman."

"You are twenty minutes behind the times, Sir John," interrupted Roscoria, stepping in front of the lady. "Lyndis is Mrs. Roscoria."

"Have you married her?" gasped the admiral, still too much done for even to swear.

"I--I--did--I have. Oh, Rodda!" appealed the bridegroom, as the curate came up with Tregurtha, "fetch the admiral the certificate, and beg him to be calm for the sake of Lyndis!"

It was evident that the admiral was in great perplexity. He saw he was too late.

"And _you_ permitted this, you scoundrel!" he roared, turning upon Tregurtha with fury. Richard flushed up; he had been afraid of this. He simply saluted and said, humbly:

"I can only ask your pardon, sir; we have all behaved very badly."

"Ha! yes, my niece Rosetta knows a scamp when she sees one. Confound you, sir!" and the admiral turned his back upon his shamefaced subordinate. He confronted Roscoria, and this time with a peculiar expression of malicious gratification under his rage. After all, when your next-door neighbor has run away with your niece, there is a unique joy in the thought of how he shall reap the whirlwind. Sir John put up his eye-glass and surveyed the husband of his niece from head to foot with a smile.

"Well," said Roscoria, with an air of buoyant courtesy, which passed but poorly with his stammering, "I'm awfully sorry we have brought you so far after us--but--since you are here--would you?--may we request the honor?--we have ordered breakfast at the Red Lion."

That was going too far. The admiral gave one of his snorts, grasped his cane, and absolutely shook it in the face of the speaker. In another instant there would have been a row royal, and the preliminary electric thrill went through the whole party. Lyndis stepped in. She softly removed Roscoria's protective hand from off her shoulder, and said with decision:

"Let me speak to him, Louis."

The men withdrew a little as she went across to the infuriated admiral, and said to him:

"Sir John, dear, we do not want to defy you, and we never did. But indeed there was nothing to be said against the owner of Torres, except that he was poor. Was I also poor? Well, then, I was accustomed to a simple mode of life, and, bless my soul! that is all I have to fear; there is no starvation in the case. Perhaps I should have behaved differently; but, dear Sir John, am I not young? I loved him. And in any case, here I am, Roscoria's wife. My marriage cannot be overlooked; would it be seemly? Why not go home without any scandal, and be thankful that you are rid of a charge that I fear has been very troublesome to you. And you will go to the Red Lion first, will you not? and have some breakfast apart from us. Dear sir, think of Rosetta's feelings--and of my inextinguishable remorse--if you were to take a chill! Come, let me walk a piece of the way with you; the men will follow. That you should have come out on this rough sea so early in the morning! That is the only thing which shadows my happiness. I do not ask your forgiveness, but I _should_ like your portrait--the one in uniform, of course--you will send it me, will you not? Yes?"

Lyndis bent her ruffled golden head and looked into his face with her sweet starry eyes. Now, the admiral had never been inaccessible to the wiles of lovely woman, and Lyndis had never before cared or dared to coax him. He began for the first time to see that there was something else in the girl beyond a fine figure. And thus it came that he put his hand furtively into his pocket and said, grumbling and awesome, but relenting:

"You're my own brother's child, unluckily, so here's ten pounds for your honeymoon. You will remember that I have made an effort--and a very considerable one it was, too, for an old gentleman of sixty--to bring you back to your duty; if I am too late, you may blame your own cunning for that, when in future days you may wish this morning's work undone. Begad, I will make it warm for your husband! He wasn't set down on the next estate to mine for nothing. There--there--a pleasant trip to you, girl; I cannot congratulate you on your choice, but we must hope for the best; good-morning!"

Then Tregurtha discovered that there was only just time for the newly wedded to breakfast at the inn before the coach should be arriving which was to convey them to Barnstaple, where they were to take the train for Penzance. So up the main street of Clovelly went the wedding party.

The informal little wedding breakfast had a far cheerier air than the funereal orthodox one. Instead of being presided over by awful footmen and hired waiters, the quartet was served by one sympathetic maid, who brought them an honest rustic repast of eggs and bacon, buttered cakes, and Devonshire cream, tea, and cider. It was all wonderfully Arcadian, and the little room was very pretty, with its walls covered with old china, and the creepers forcing their way in through the open window. Lyndis shone on the occasion.

Nor was there any time for sentiment, nor any ghastly speeches. Tregurtha did indeed raise his teacup, with a bow to Lyndis and a wink to Roscoria, and endeavor to drink its contents off at a draught, but, burning his mouth, he was forced to desist.

Then Roscoria was bound to pour out a glass of cider, and say:

"My dear fellows, I am heartily obliged to you, and now let me propose _my_ toast. (By the way, Tregurtha, have you considered the pungency of the fact that the Greeks use the same word 'trouble' and 'wife's relations?') Where was I? Oh, yes; allow me to propose the health and good-humor and indemnity from chill, of my revered and feared uncle-in-law. Admiral Sir John Villiers, K. C. B."

"Poor old fellow," said Tregurtha, reflectively; "I hear him stamping about overhead. I hope he has got all he wants; I shall go and take him a stiff glass of grog."

He did so, and returned with a smiling but battered expression.

"Is he any cooler?" anxiously inquired the bridegroom.

"Cooler? Molten lead--the torrid zone--a powder-magazine in full explosion--the furnaces of Nebuchadnezzar--are about as cool as is the admiral at this moment. I should like to see you two clear out of this, lest he change his mind, and bring the whole population of Clovelly down upon you."

Lyndis paled visibly and rose.

"How ever did he know we were off?" she asked.

"Yes, how indeed?" demanded Tregurtha of his friend. Roscoria looked up and Roscoria looked down, and Roscoria finally admitted in a whispered aside:

"Lyndis was rather fluttered, Dick, and so I kissed her--by mistake--just under the admiral's window."

* * * * *

"Good luck to you and your ship, captain!" said Roscoria, with that air of ill-sustained buoyancy which we all adopt during the _mauvais quart d'heure_ of parting.

"Good-bye, Corydon," said Dick, and wrung his friend's hand. "Be off, or you'll miss the coach."

Lyndis and Roscoria walked away together up the steep path to the high road; Rodda had made himself scarce, and Tregurtha stood alone.

There is an advantage here and there, when your friend marries and you don't. He keeps a more luxurious table as a rule, and you are sure of a match-box and hot-water in your bedroom when you visit him. On the other hand, there is something eternally gone; the old frank confidence _a deux_ grows yearly more difficult, and, you can never more be "boys together."

On that day a week later Captain Tregurtha was off again to sea, in command, in a measure through the admiral's interest, of a fine ship, the Damietta.

Rosetta, who did not see the captain again before he went, has taken first-class honors in the Junior Cambridge Exam. of the year (logic being specially commended), and she has now entered upon an engrossing project in conjunction with the admiral for the importation of some "Hereford" white-face cattle on to the Braceton farm.

Admiral Sir John Villiers bides his time. When Roscoria comes home to cane his boys he will live to find a rod in pickle for himself. But little recks the lover of the future thunders, for he is living under a cloudless sky. Unlike most folk of the present day, Lyndis and Roscoria have rushed headlong into matrimony; and if consequences _will_ fall heavy--why, let them! they say, as they blissfully, economically, and appropriately roam amongst the myrtles in the Scilly Isles.

* * * * * *

Transcriber's note:

A table of contents has been added.

Some inconsistent punctuation was retained (e.g. eyeglass vs. eye-glass).

Changed oe-ligatures were changed to "oe."

Page 145, changed ? to . after "opposite bank."

Page 166, restored several missing commas to "a torrent, a storm, hurricane, gust, squall, half-gale." These were present in the original but lost in the reprint.

Page 173, changed "into the boot" to "into the boat."