The Money Moon Part 43

And, hereupon, as the car hummed over the smooth road, it seemed to find a voice,--a subtle, mocking voice, very like the voice of the brook,--that murmured to her over and over again:

"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed."

The very trees whispered it as they pa.s.sed, and her heart throbbed in time to it:

"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed!" So, she leaned as far from him as she might, watching him with frightened eyes while he frowned ever upon the road in front, and the car rocked, and swayed with their going, as they whirled onward through moonlight and through shadow, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating of her heart wherein was fear, and shame, and anger, and--another feeling, but greatest of all now, was fear. Could this be the placid, soft-spoken gentleman she had known,--this man, with the implacable eyes, and the brutal jaw, who neither spoke to, nor looked at her, but frowned always at the road in front.

And so, the fear grew and grew within her,--fear of the man whom she knew,--and knew not at all. She clasped her hands nervously together, watching him with dilating eyes as the car slowed down,--for the road made a sudden turn, hereabouts.

And still he neither looked at, nor spoke to her; and therefore, because she could bear the silence no longer, she spoke--in a voice that sounded strangely faint, and far-away, and that shook and trembled in spite of her.

"Where are you--taking me?"

"To be married!" he answered, never looking at her.

"You--wouldn't--dare!"

"Wait and see!" he nodded.

"Oh!--but what do--you mean?" The fear in her voice was more manifest than ever.

"I mean that you are mine,--you always were, you always must and shall be. So, I'm going to marry you--in about half-an-hour, by special license."

Still he did not even glance towards her, and she looked away over the country side all lonely and desolate under the moon.

"I want you, you see," he went on, "I want you more than I ever wanted anything in this world. I need you, because without you my life will be utterly purposeless, and empty. So I have taken you--because you are mine, I know it,--Ah yes! and, deep down in your woman's heart, you know it too. And so, I am going to marry you,--yes I am, unless--" and here, he brought the car to a standstill, and turning, looked at her for the first time.

And now, before the look in his eyes, her own wavered, and fell, lest he should read within them that which she would fain hide from him,--and which she knew they must reveal,--that which was neither shame, nor anger, nor fear, but the other feeling for which she dared find no name.

And thus, for a long moment, there was silence.

At last she spoke, though with her eyes still hidden:

"Unless!" she repeated breathlessly.

"Anthea,--look at me!"

But Anthea only drooped her head the lower; wherefore, he leaned forward, and--even as Small Porges had done,--set his hand beneath the dimple in her chin, and lifted the proud, un-willing face:

"Anthea,--look at me!"

And now, what could Anthea do but obey?

"Unless," said he, as her glance, at last, met his, "unless you can tell me--now, as your eyes look into mine,--that you love Ca.s.silis. Tell me that, and I will take you back, this very instant; and never trouble you again. But, unless you do tell me that, why then--your Pride shall not blast two lives, if I can help it. Now speak!"

But Anthea was silent, also, she would have turned aside from his searching look, but that his arms were about her, strong, and compelling. So, needs must she suffer him to look down into her very heart, for it seemed to her that, in that moment, he had rent away every st.i.tch, and shred of Pride's enfolding mantle, and that he saw the truth, at last.

But, if he had, he gave no sign, only he turned and set the car humming upon its way, once more.

On they went through the midsummer night, up hill and down hill, by cross-road and bye-lane, until, as they climbed a long ascent, they beheld a tall figure standing upon the top of the hill, in the att.i.tude of one who waits; and who, spying them, immediately raised a very stiff left arm, whereupon this figure was joined by another. Now as the car drew nearer, Anthea, with a thrill of pleasure, recognized the Sergeant standing very much as though he were on parade, and with honest-faced Peterday beside him, who stumped joyfully forward, and,--with a bob of his head, and a sc.r.a.pe of his wooden leg,--held out his hand to her.

Like one in a dream she took the sailor's hand to step from the car, and like one in a dream, she walked on between the soldier and the sailor, who now reached out to her, each, a hand equally big and equally gentle, to aid her up certain crumbling, and time-worn steps. On they went together until they were come to a place of whispering echoes, where lights burned, few, and dim.

And here, still as one in a dream, she spoke those words which gave her life, henceforth, into the keeping of him who stood beside her,--whose strong hand trembled as he set upon her finger, that which is an emblem of eternity.

Like one in a dream, she took the pen, and signed her name, obediently, where they directed. And yet,--could this really be herself,--this silent, submissive creature?

And now, they were out upon the moon-lit road again, seated in the car, while Peterday, his hat in his hand, was speaking to her. And yet,--was it to her?

"Mrs. Belloo, mam," he was saying, "on this here monumentous occasion--"

"Monumentous is the only word for it, Peterday!" nodded the Sergeant.

"On this here monumentous occasion, Mrs. Belloo," the sailor proceeded, "my s.h.i.+pmate, d.i.c.k, and me, mam,--respectfully beg the favour of saluting the bride;--Mrs. Belloo, by your leave--here's health, and happiness, mam!" And, hereupon, the old sailor kissed her, right heartily. Which done, he made way for the Sergeant who, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit.

"A fair wind, and prosperous!" cried Peterday, flouris.h.i.+ng his hat.

"And G.o.d--bless you--both!" said the Sergeant as the car shot away.

So, it was done!--the irrevocable step was taken! Her life and future had pa.s.sed for ever into the keeping of him who sat so silent beside her, who neither spoke, nor looked at her, but frowned ever at the road before him.

On sped the car, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating of her heart wherein there was yet something of fear, and shame,--but greatest of all was that other emotion, and the name of it was--Joy.

Now, presently, the car slowed down, and he spoke to her, though without turning his head. And yet, something in his voice thrilled through her strangely.

"Look Anthea,--the moon is at the full, to-night."

"Yes!" she answered.

"And Happiness shall come riding astride the full moon!" he quoted. "Old Nannie is rather a wonderful old witch, after all, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"And then there is--our nephew,--my dear, little Porges! But for him, Happiness would have been a stranger to me all my days, Anthea. He dreamed that the Money Moon spoke to him, and--but he shall tell you of that, for himself."

But Anthea noticed that he spoke without once looking at her; indeed it seemed that he avoided glancing towards her, of set design, and purpose; and his deep voice quivered, now and then, in a way she had never heard before. Therefore, her heart throbbed the faster, and she kept her gaze bent downward, and thus, chancing to see the s.h.i.+mmer of that which was upon her finger, she blushed, and hid it in a fold of her gown.

"Anthea."

"Yes?"

"You have no regrets,--have you?"

"No," she whispered.

"We shall soon be--home, now!"

"Yes."

"And are you--mine--for ever, and always? Anthea, you--aren't--afraid of me any more, are you?"