Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 101

"You are not affronted at my disclosing all this so fully, Miss Deveen?"

he asked, misled by her silence. "I wished to----"

"Affronted!" she interposed. "Nay, how could I be? I am lost in the deep sympathy I feel--with you and with Emily Gibson. What a trial it has been!--how hopeless it must have appeared. You will marry now."

"Yes. I could not bring myself to disclose this abroad prematurely,"

he added; "though perhaps I ought to have done it before beginning to furnish the house. I find that some of my friends, suspecting something from that fact, have been wondering whether I was thinking of Emma Topcroft. Though indeed I feel quite ashamed to repeat to you any idea that is so obviously absurd, poor child!"

Miss Deveen laughed. "How did you hear that?" she asked.

"From Emma herself. She heard of it from--from--Mrs. Jonas, I think--and repeated it to me, and to her mother, in the highest state of glee. To Emma, it seemed only fun: she is young and thoughtless."

"I conclude Emma has known of your engagement?"

"Only lately. Mrs. Topcroft knew of it from the beginning: Emily is her niece. She knew also that I released Emily from the engagement years ago, and she thought I did rightly, my future being so hopeless. But how very silly people must be to suppose I could think of that child Emma! I must set them right."

"Never mind the people," cried Miss Deveen. "Don't set them right until you feel quite inclined to do so. As to that, I believe Emma has done it already. How long is it that you and Emily have waited for one another?"

"Fourteen years."

"Fourteen years! It seems half a lifetime. Do not let another day go on, Mr. Lake; marry at once."

"That was one of the points on which I wished to ask your opinion," he rejoined, his tones hesitating, his face shrinking from the moonlight.

"Do you think it would be wrong of me to marry--almost directly? Would it be at all unseemly?"

"Wrong? Unseemly?" cried Miss Deveen. "In what way?"

"I hardly know. It may appear to the parish so very hurried. And it is so short a time since my kind Rector died."

"Never mind the parish," reiterated Miss Deveen. "The parish would fight at your marriage, though it were put off for a twelvemonth; be sure of that. As to Mr. Selwyn, he was no relative of yours. Surely you have waited long enough! Were I your promised wife, sir, I wouldn't have you at all unless you married me to-morrow morning."

They both laughed a little. "Why should the parish fight at my marriage, Miss Deveen?" he suddenly asked.

"Why?" she repeated; thinking how utterly void of conceit he was, how unconscious he had been all along in his modesty. "Oh, people always grumble at everything, you know. If you were to remain single, they would say you ought to marry; and if you marry, they will think you might as well have remained single. _Don't_ trouble your head about the parish, and don't tell any one a syllable beforehand if you'd rather not. _I_ shouldn't."

"You have been so very kind to me always, Miss Deveen, and I have felt more grateful than I can say. I hope--I hope you will like my wife. I hope you will allow me to bring her here, and introduce her to you."

"I like her already," said Miss Deveen. "As to your bringing her here, if she lived near enough you should both come here to your wedding-breakfast. What a probation it has been!"

The tears stood in his grey eyes. "Yes, it has been that; a trial hardly to be imagined. I don't think we quite lost heart, either she or I. Not that we have ever looked to so bright an ending as this; but we knew that G.o.d saw all things, and we were content to leave ourselves in His hands."

"I am sure that she is good and estimable! One to be loved."

"Indeed she is. Few are like her."

"Have you never met--all these fourteen years?"

"Yes; three or four times. When I have been able to take a holiday I have gone down there to my old Rector; he was always glad to see me. It has not been often, as you know," he added. "Mr. Selwyn could not spare me."

"I know," said Miss Deveen. "He took all the holidays, and you all the work."

"He and his family seemed to need them," spoke the clergyman from his unselfish heart. "Latterly, when Emily and I have met, we have only allowed it to be as strangers."

"Not quite as strangers, surely!"

"No, no; I used the word thoughtlessly. I ought to have said as friends."

"Will you pardon me for the question I am about to ask you, and not attribute it to impertinent curiosity?" resumed Miss Deveen. "How have you found the money to furnish your house? Or are you doing it on credit?"

His whole face lighted up with smiles. "The money is Emily's, dear Miss Deveen. Her father, Edward Gibson, sent me his cheque for three hundred pounds, saying it was all he should be able to do for her, but he hoped it might be enough for the furniture."

Miss Deveen took his hands in hers as he rose to leave. "I wish you both all the happiness that the world can give," she said, in her earnest tones. "And I think--I feel sure--Heaven's blessing will rest upon you."

We turned out from the penny-reading like bees from a hive, openly wondering what could have become of Mr. Lake. Mrs. Jonas hoped his head was not splitting--she had seen him talking to Miss Cattledon long enough in the afternoon in that hot King's Road to bring on a sunstroke.

Upon which Cattledon retorted that the ginger-cordial might have disagreed with him. With the clearing up as to Emma Topcroft, these slight amenities had recommenced.

Miss Deveen sat reading by lamp-light when we arrived home. Taking off her spectacles, she began asking us about the penny-reading; but never a hint gave she that she had had a visitor.

Close upon this Mr. Lake took a week's holiday, leaving that interesting young deacon as his subst.i.tute, and a brother Rector to preach on the Sunday morning. No one could divine what on earth he had gone out for, as Mrs. Herriker put it, or what part of the world he had betaken himself to. Miss Deveen kept counsel; Mrs. Topcroft and Emma never opened their lips.

The frightful truth came out one morning, striking the parish all of a heap. They read it in the _Times_, amongst the marriages. "The Reverend William Lake, Rector of St. Matthew's, to Emily Mary, eldest daughter of Edward Gibson, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons." Indignation set in.

"I have heard of gay deceivers," gasped Miss Barlow, who was at the least as old as Cattledon, and sat in the churchwarden's pew at church, "but I never did hear of deceit such as this. And for a clergyman to be guilty of it!"

"I'm glad I sent him a doll," giggled Daisy Dutton. "I dare say it is a doll he has gone and married."

This was said in the porch, after morning prayers. Whilst they were all at it, talking as fast as they could talk, Emma Topcroft chanced to pa.s.s. They pounced upon her forthwith.

"Married! Oh yes, of course he is married; and they are coming home on Sat.u.r.day," said Emma, in response.

"Is she a doll?" cried Daisy.

"She is the nicest girl you ever saw," returned Emma; "though of course not much of a girl now; and they have waited for one another fourteen years."

Fourteen years! Thoughts went back, in mortification, to slippers and cus.h.i.+ons. Mrs. Jonas cast regrets to her ginger-cordial.

"Of course he has a right to be engaged--and to have slyly kept it to himself, making believe he was a free man: but to go off surrept.i.tiously to his wedding without a word to any one!--I don't know what _he_ may call it," panted Mrs. Herriker, in virtuous indignation, "_I_ call it conduct unbefitting a gentleman. He could have done no less had he been going to his hanging."

"He would have liked to speak, I think, but could not get up courage for it; he is the shyest man possible," cried Emma. "But he did not go off surrept.i.tiously: some people knew of it. Miss Deveen knew--and Dr.

Galliard knew--and we knew--and I feel nearly sure Mr. Chisholm knew, he simpered so the other day when he called for the books. I dare say Johnny Ludlow knew."

All which was so much martyrdom to Jemima Cattledon, listening with a face of vinegar. Miss Deveen!--and Johnny Ludlow!--and those Topcrofts!--while _she_ had been kept in the dark! She jerked up her skirts to cross the wet road, inwardly vowing never to put faith in surpliced man again.

We went to church on Sunday morning to the sound of the ting-tang.

Mr. Lake, looking calm and cool as usual, was stepping into the reading-desk: in the Rector's pew sat a quiet-looking and quietly dressed young lady with what Miss Deveen called, then and afterwards, a sweet face. Daisy Dutton took a violent fancy to her at first-sight: truth to say, so did I.

Our parish--the small knot of week-day church-goers in it--could not get over it at all. Moreover, just at this time they lost Mr. Chisholm, whose year was up. Some of them "went over" to St. Jude's in a body; that church having recently set up daily services, and a most desirable new curate who could "intone." "As if we would attend that slow old St.

Matthew's now, to hear that slow old parson Lake!" cried Mrs. Herriker, craning her neck disparagingly.