apparently dr. rane found nothing on his conscience that could present an impediment, and the preparation for the wedding went quietly on. secretly might almost be the better word. in their dread lest the news should reach madam in her retreat over the water, and bring her back to thwart it, those concerned deemed it well to say nothing; and no suspicion of what was afloat transpired to the world in general.
bessy--upon whom, from her isolated position, having no lady about her, the arrangements fell--was desired to fix a day. she named the twenty-ninth of june, her birthday. after july should come in, there was no certainty about madam's movements; she might come home, or she might not, and it was necessary that all should be over by that time, if it was to be gone through in peace. the details of the ceremony were to be of the simplest nature: edmund north's recent death and the other attendant and peculiar circumstances forbidding the usual gaiety. the bridal party would go to church with as little ceremony as they went to service on sundays, bessy in a plain silk dress and a plain bonnet. mr. north would give his daughter away, if he were well enough; if not, richard. ellen adair was to be bridesmaid; arthur bohun had offered himself to dr. rane as best man. it might be very undutiful, but arthur enjoyed stealing a march on madam as much as the best of them.
mrs. cumberland was no doubt satisfied with regard to the scruples she had raised, since she intended to countenance the wedding, and go to church. dr. rane and his bride would drive away from the church-door to the railway-station at whitborough. the bridal tour was to last one week only. the doctor did not care to be longer away from his patients, and bessy confessed that she would rather be at home, setting her house in order, than prolonging her stay at small inns in wales. but for the disconcerting fact of madam's being in paris, dr. rane would have liked to take bessy across the channel and give her her first glimpse of the french capital. under madam's unjust rule, poor bessy had never gone anywhere: matilda north had been taken half over the world.
the new household arrangements at dr. rane's were to be accomplished during their week's absence: the articles of furniture--that mr. north chose to consider belonged to bessy--to be taken there from the hall; the new carpet, mrs. cumberland's present, to be laid down in the drawing-room; molly green to enter as helpmate to phillis. surely madam would not grumble at that? molly green, going into a temper one day at some oppression of madam's, had given warning on the spot. bessy liked the girl, and there could be no harm in engaging her as her own housemaid.
one of those taken into the secret had been mrs. gass. richard, who greatly respected her in spite of her grammar, and liked her also, unfolded the news. she received it in silence: a very rare thing for mrs. gass to do. just as it had struck richard in regard to mrs. cumberland, so it struck him now--mrs. gass did not quite like the tidings.
"well, i hope they'll be happy," she said at length, breaking the silence, "and i hope he deserves to be. i hope it with all my heart. do you think he does, mr. richard?"
"rane? deserves to be happy? for all i see, he does. why should he not?"
"i don't know," answered mrs. gass, looking into richard's face. "oliver rane is my late husband's nephew, but he's three parts a stranger to me, except as a doctor; for he attends here, you know, sir,--as is natural--and not alexander. is he truthful, mr. richard? is he trustworthy?"
"he is, for anything i know to the contrary," replied richard north, a little wondering at the turn the conversation was taking. "if i thought he was not, i should be very sorry to give bessy to him."
"then let us hope that he is, mr. richard, and wish 'em joy with all our hearts."
that a doubt was lying on mrs. gass's mind, in regard to the scrap of paper found in her room, was certain. being a sensible woman, it could only be that--when surrounding mists had cleared away--she should see that the only likely place for it to have dropped from, was dr. rane's pocketbook. molly green had been subjected to a cross-examination, very cleverly conducted, as mrs. gass thought, which left the matter exactly as it was before. but the girl's surprise was so genuine, at supposing any receipt for making plum-pudding (for thus had mrs. gass put it) could have been dropped by her, that mrs. gass's mind could only revert to the pocketbook. how far oliver rane was guilty, whether guilty at all, she was quite unable to decide. a doubt remained in her mind, though she was glad enough to put it from her. one thing struck her as curious, if not suspicious--that from the hour she had handed him over the paper to this, dr. rane had never once spoken of the subject to her. it almost seemed to mrs. gass that an innocent man would have done so, though it had only been to say, i have found no clue to the writer.
and if a little of the same doubt rose to richard north during his interview with mrs. gass, it was due to her manner. but he was upright himself, unsuspicious as the day. the impression faded again; and he came away believing that mrs. gass, zealous for the norths' honours, rather disapproved of the marriage for bessy, on account of the doctor's poverty.
and so, there was no one to give a word of warning where it might have been effectual, and the day fixed for the wedding drew on. after all, the programme was not strictly carried out, for mr. north had one of his nervous attacks, and could not go to church.
at five minutes past nine o'clock, in the warm bright june morning, the dallory hall carriage drove up to dallory church. richard north, his sister, and arthur bohun were within it. the forms and etiquette usually observed at weddings were slighted here, else how came arthur bohun, the bridegroom's best man, to come to church with the bride? what did it matter? closely in its wake came up the other carriage--which ought to have been the first. in after days, when a strange ending had come to the marriage life of oliver rane and his wife, and oliver was regarded with dread, assailed with reproach, people said the marriage had been the norths' doings more than his. at any rate, bessy was first at church, and both were a little late.
but mr. north was not the only one who failed them; the other was mrs. cumberland. she assigned no reason for absenting herself from the ceremony, excepting a plea that she did not feel equal to it--which her son believed or not, as he pleased. her new bright dress and bonnet were spread out on the bed; but she never as much as looked at them: and ellen adair found that she and dr. rane had to drive to church alone, in the hired carriage, arriving there almost simultaneously with the other party.
richard north conducted his sister up the aisle, the bridegroom following close on their steps. ellen adair and captain bohun, left behind, walked side by side. bessy wore a pretty grey silk and plain white bonnet: she had a small bouquet in her hand that the gardener, williams, had arranged for her, ellen adair was in a similar dress, and looked altogether lovely. mr. lea, the clergyman, stood ready, book in hand. the spectators in the church--for the event had got wind at the last moment, as these events almost always do, and many came--rose up with expectation.
of all the party, the bridegroom alone seemed to suffer from nervousness. his answering voice was low, his words were abrupt. it was the more remarkable, because he was in general so self-contained and calm a man. bessy, always timid and yielding, spoke with gentle firmness; not a shade of doubt or agitation seemed to cross her. but there occurred a frightful contretemps.
"the ring, if you please," whispered the officiating clergyman to the bridegroom at that part of the service where the ring was needed.
the ring! oliver rane felt in his waistcoat-pocket, and went into an agony of consternation. the ring was not there. he must have left it on his dressing-table. the little golden symbol had been wrapped in white tissue paper, and he certainly remembered putting it into his waistcoat-pocket. it was as certainly not there now: and he supposed he must have put it out again.
"i have not got the ring!" he exclaimed hurriedly.
to keep a marriage ceremony waiting while a messenger ran a mile off for the ring and then ran a mile back again, was a thing that had never been heard of by the clergyman or any other of the startled individuals around him. what was to be done? it was suggested that perhaps some one present could furnish a ring that might suffice. ellen adair, standing in her beauty behind the bride, gently laid down the glove and bouquet she was holding, took off her own glove, and gave oliver rane a plain gold ring from her finger: one she always wore there. arthur bohun alone knew the history of the ring; the rest had never taken sufficient interest in her to inquire it; perhaps had never noticed that she wore one.
the service proceeded to its end. had oliver rane gone a pilgrimage to all the jewellers' shops in whitborough, he could not have chosen a more perfectly fitting wedding-ring than this. when they went into the vestry, bessy, agitated by the mishap and the emotional position altogether, burst into tears, asking ellen how she came by a wedding-ring.
the history was very simple. it arose--that is the possession of the ring--through the foolish romance of two young girls. ellen and one of her schoolfellows named maria warne had formed a sincere and lasting, attachment to each other. at the time of parting, when ellen was leaving school for mrs. cumberland's, each had bought a plain gold ring to give the other, over which eternal friendship had been vowed, together with an undertaking to wear the ring always. alas, for time and change! in less than six months afterwards, ellen adair received notice of the death of maria warne. the ring had in consequence become really precious to ellen; but in this emergency she had not scrupled to part with it.
as they came out of the vestry, ellen found herself face to face with jelly. the clerk, and the two women pew-openers, and the sexton, considering themselves privileged people, pressed up where they chose: jelly, who of course--living with mrs. cumberland--could not be at all confounded with the common spectators, chose to press with them. her face was long and serious, as she caught "hold of miss adair.
"how could you, miss ellen?" she whispered. "don't you know that nothing is more unlucky than for a bride to be married with anybody else's wedding-ring?"
"but it was not a wedding-ring, jelly. only a plain gold one."
"anyway it was unlucky for you. we have a superstition in these parts, miss ellen, that if a maid takes off a ring from her own finger to serve at a pinch for a bride, she will never be a wife herself. i wouldn't have risked it, miss."
ellen laughed gaily, jelly's dismay was so real and her face so grave. but there was no time for more. richard held out his arm to her; and oliver rane was already taking out his bride. close up against the door stood mr. north's carriage, into which stepped the bride and bridegroom.
"my shawl! where's the shawl?" asked bessy, looking round.
she had sat down upon it; and laughed gaily when oliver drew it out. this shawl--a thin cashmere of quiet colours--was intended to be thrown on ere they reached the station. her silk dress covered with that, and a black lace veil substituted for the white one on her bonnet, the most susceptible maid or matron who might happen to be travelling, would never take her for a bride.
arthur bohun deliberately flung an old white satin slipper after the carriage--it struck the old coachman's head, and the spectators shouted cheerily. richard was going to the works. he placed ellen in the carriage that had brought her.
"will you pardon me, if i depute captain bohun to see you safely home instead of myself, miss adair? it is a very busy day at the works, and i must go there. arthur, will you take charge of this young lady?"
what ellen answered, she scarcely knew. captain bohun entered the carriage. the situation was wholly unexpected: and if their hearts beat a little faster in the tumult of the moment's happiness, richard at least was unconscious of it.
"it is the first wedding i ever was at," began ellen, feeling that she must talk to cover the embarrassment of the position. both were feeling it: and moved as far apart from each other as if they had quarrelled: she in one corner, he in the further one opposite. "of course it had been arranged that i should go home with mrs. cumberland."
"is she ill?"
"dr. rane thinks it is only nervousness: he said so as we came along. i had to come with him alone. i am sure the people we passed on the road, who had not heard about bessy thought it was i who was going to be married to him, they stared so into the carriage."
ellen laughed as she said it. arthur bohun, drinking in draughts of her wondrous beauty, glanced at her meaningly, his blue eyes involuntarily betraying his earnest love.
"it may be your turn next, ellen."
she blushed vividly, and looked from the window as though she saw something passing. he felt tempted there and then to speak of his love. but he had a keen sense of the fitness of time and place; and she had been placed for these few minutes under his protection: it seemed like putting him on his honour, as schoolboys say. besides, he had fully made up his mind not to speak until he saw his way clear to marry.
ellen adair brought her face round again. "jelly is in a terrible way about the ring, foretelling all sorts of ill-luck to every one concerned, and is thankful it did not happen to her. will bessy keep my ring always, do you think? perhaps she would not be legally married if she gave it me back and took to her own--when it is found?"
arthur bohun's eyes danced a little. "perhaps not," he replied in the gravest tones. "i don't know what they, would have done without it, ellen."
"i did not tell bessy one thing, when she asked me about it in the vestry. i will never tell her if i can help it--that maria warne is dead. how was it mr. north did not come?"
"nervousness too, in my opinion. he said he was ill."
"why should he be nervous?"
"lest it should come to his wife's ears that he had so far countenanced the marriage as to be present at it."
"can you tell why mrs. north should set her face against it?"
"no. unless it is because other people have wished it. i should only say as much to you, though, ellen: she is my mother."
the implied confidence sounded very precious in her ears. she turned to the window again.
"i hope they will be happy. i think there is no doubt of it. bessy is very sweet-tempered and gentle."
"he is good-tempered too."
"yes, i think so. i have seen very little of him. there's mrs. gass!"
they were passing that lady's house. she sat at the open window; a grand amber gown on, white satin ribbons in her cap. leaning out, she shook her handkerchief at them in violent greeting, just as though they had been the bride and bridegroom. as ellen drew back in her corner after bowing, her foot touched something on the carpet at the bottom of the carriage.
"why! what is this?"
they both stooped at once. it was the wedding-ring enclosed in its tissue paper. captain bohun unfolded the paper.
"dr. rane must have lost it out of his pocket as we went along," cried ellen. "he said, you know, that he felt so sure he had put it in. what is to be done with it?"
"wear it instead of your own until they come back again," said arthur. "bessy can then take her choice of the two."
accepting the suggestion without thought of dissent, ellen took off her right glove and held out the other hand for the ring. he did not give it. bending forward, he took her right hand and put it on for her.
"it fits as well as my own did."
their eyes met. he had her hand still, as if trying how far the ring fitted. her sweet face was like a damask rose.
"i trust i may put one on to better purpose some day, ellen," came the murmuring, whispered, tremulous words. "meanwhile--if bessy does not claim this, remember that i have placed it on your finger."
not another syllable, not another look from either. captain bohun sat down in his corner; ellen in hers, her hot face bent over the glove she was putting on, and fully believing that earth had changed to paradise.
