Читать книгу In the Van; or, The Builders - John Price-Brown - Страница 17

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Ye Builders, true on land and lake To name and Nation's glory, Though time has left you in its wake, Your stress must tell its story.

^"Harold Manning: wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her as long as ye both shall live?" rang out in clear, solemn tones throughout the little chapel of the Abbey on that still November morning.

"I will," came the answer. The few who were present heard the words with a thrill. They knew in his case how much they meant.

"Helen Brandon: Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," was again the response, issuing sweetly but firmly from lips that would not tremble, although the tone brought tears to more than one pair of eyes fixed upon her as she spoke.

The ceremony and congratulations were soon over. Then the bride, on the arm of her husband, led the way down the aisle, while the tones of the Wedding March filled Grand Old Westminster to its furthest limits.

November days in London have not changed much in a century of years, although perhaps the opacity of the air was more penetrating in 1813 than it is to-day; for when the bridal party passed through the Abbey archway to the street, the mist of the early morning had developed into a dense fog, rapidly closing over the city. Hence, the coachmen had to pilot the way to almost invisible carriages, and then lead their horses in a tramp of several miles over the return journey, through almost deserted streets.

"My darling, mine at last," whispered the young man as he clasped his bride in his arms under cover of the closed carriage and dense atmosphere.

"Yes, Harold, yours forever," was the response; and with their first long kiss they sealed their marriage vows.

"Too bad to need such a wedding-day as this!" he exclaimed, looking fondly into her eyes, and then through the carriage window into the opaque street.

"And yet how fortunate that it is so," she answered with a little ripple of laughter.

"My sweet philosopher! Once in the Abbey, I never thought of it again."

"But I did. I looked all round and there was not a single visitor, only our own party, the clergyman, the organist, and the little, old-fashioned clerk."

"'Pon my word, Helen, I don't believe I saw anyone but you, from the moment we went in until we came out again."

"You dear old boy! I suppose it was love that kept my eyes open to other things. Do you know I was actually glad to see the mist to-day, much as I dislike it."

"Yes, and after all it has been our friend. Everything seems to have favored us. Even the fog helped to keep our secret."

"Where did you say you had the Banns published, Harold?" she asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"At a little village ten miles out of London, a place I never heard of before."

"All the better for us. But now that we are actually married you won't need to keep the secret much longer, will you, dearest?" she asked, casting a glance from her big brown eyes up to his face.

"Not a moment longer than I can help, darling. You know Sir George Head is my new commanding officer; and I want him to hear the news first from me."

"And what will he say?"

"As I told you before, Helen, he won't like it. There may be no written law, but there's an unwritten one in the army, that no officer can marry without his superior officer's consent, particularly if he has been off duty as long as I have. Still, that terrible wound I got at Badajos is in my favor; and he can't turn me off, whatever else he does."

"But he might make it very uncomfortable for you, Harold."

"Yes, and he can refuse to sanction your going with me to Canada."

"That's the worst part of it, dearest! How can a wife love, honor and serve her husband, and keep him in sickness and in health, if she can't live with him?" she exclaimed, while blushes danced playfully over the dark beauty of her face.

"You are the dearest girl that ever lived," he cried, throwing his arms around her and pressing her again to his heart. "I shall do my best with the Colonel; and will see him as soon as I can. Perhaps I should have spoken to him first; but if I had he would have forbidden our wedding, and to have married after that would have been direct insubordination."

"Won't he think so as it is?"

"Perhaps. Still I am willing to run the risk; and I wanted to have you as my wife, whether I could take you or not. I'm afraid I'm a selfish fellow, Helen, and not by any means worthy of you."

"Why, Harold! What a way of speaking—just after our marriage, too!"

"Forgive me, dearest! I didn't mean anything, but that I love you so much, that I almost tremble at the responsibility we have undertaken."

"Is that a brave front for a soldier?" exclaimed Helen, with flashing eye.

"I would dare anything for myself, Helen; but it is of you I was thinking. To leave you behind with no one but your uncle and aunt to care for you when we sail, and perhaps not come back for years, seems more than I can bear."

"If we have to we must, though," she exclaimed, cuddling closer. "Then I will stay home and wait and watch and pray for the dearest one in all the world to me; and think of Penetang. Isn't that the name of the place? and long for the day that I can be with my husband again."

"What a noble girl you are!"

"I'm a soldier's daughter"; and she looked up proudly, although a tear was in her eye.

"Yes, and your brave father was shot in the heart while leading his men to victory."

"And come what will, his daughter shall never disgrace his name. Victory will yet be ours!" she said courageously.

"God grant it," was his response.

For some moments both had solemn faces, while with gentle pressure they held each other's hands.

"I am not without hope," Harold continued at last. "Sir George may be angry at first, and I can't blame him for that. He'll raise a row, of course—perhaps send me to Hades—but he may give in before the ship sails. It will be jolly happy for us if he does."

While he was speaking a critical look came into Helen's face.

"Do you know," she exclaimed with sudden earnestness, "I really believe I can help you!"

"My darling! How in the world can you? You do not even know Sir George or one of the officers."

"That may be," she replied, holding his hand in both of hers. "But see, the carriage is stopping. I cannot tell you now. Just leave it to me," and at once the expression upon her face inspired him with renewed confidence.

Just then they arrived at a little villa on G——e street, and the whole party alighted.