A CHRISTMAS=EVE WEDDING

Gisborne Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 3711, 21 December 1912, Page 17

A CHRISTMAS=EVE WEDDING

“And there’s a marriage to-mor-ro\v,“ said the vicar, thoughtfully, going over his many engagements. I am sorry to leave so much to you, Durant, just at the start, too.” Roger Durant smiled. “ Please don trouble about me/* lie said reassuringly, “I don’t mind how much I have to do—if 1 can only do it satisfactorily,” he added naively. “I have never performed the marriage ceremony yet, shall I have to take it alone?” and the young,curate looked almost appealingly at iiis vicar. “I am afriad you will. I heard nothing of any one coming to*assist. I am very sorry,” lie repeated, • “but the summons was urgent. I fear my mother may scarcely live to see me, and it it were the marriage of my greatest friend, I should have to go/’ “Oil, yes, I know,” responded the younger man, sympathetically. “Then these are not friends of yours, sir? The byidal couple, I mean.” Perhaps because- it was his first experience, lie felt quite an interest in the pair. The vicar shook ’his head. “No, I really don’t know them. The girl—the birde—and her mother came to the town a 'few weeks since, but- they have never seemed friendly incline:], and as for the man, well, I saw him when lie came to make the necessary arrangements, and—it sounds uncharitable, hut I would rather never see him again.” “Oh?” said the curate. But the vicar either did not hear or heed the question in his tone, and after some more talk over the duties to he done in his absence, the men parted. But many times during / the remainder of that day, Roger Durant found his thoughts straying to the pair he was to unite on the morrow, and he wondered a little what sort of girl tne bride could be. who could give herseir for ever to the man the vicar, having seen once, wished never to see again. Which was mistaken in him? The next day broke as dark and ■foggy and dreary as a clay coulc! he. In the cold church, where some white flowers ni the vases were the only at-t-smpio at decorations, a few visitors or onlookers had collected by the time Roger reached it: and as he sat in the vestry waiting, the silence that hung over everything seemed to him

more suggestive of death than life, and it was quite with a sense of relief that ne heard a knock at the vestry door. ‘‘My name is Wiggins,” said a voice, “and I’ve come beforehand to settle up any little expenses, attached to this business,” and a jocose leer grinned from the eve, and curved the fleshy cheeks of the speaker. Boger understood in a moment. This was the bridegroom —the man the vicar had taken such an objection to. “You refer to your marriage?” he responded coldly, without the shadow of a smile- “I think Mr Montgomery explained to you.” “Oh, yes,” briskly, “but—well, we thought we should have had the vicar. Are the fees the same for—for the curate?” Boger felt glad the man had tho grace to stumble in Ins impertinence. “There is but one charge,” he said frigidly. i “There yoti are, then.” pushing some coins across the table. “Beast of a day isn’t it? I shall be glad when I’m out of this.”

Roger looked at his watch. “I think,” he said politely, ‘‘it is time I got ready. -The bride should be arriving shortly.” ‘‘Oh, I say! Glad you reminded me,” and the happy bridegroom hurried away to take up his position. Roger, following a few moments later, was decidedly the more nervous of the two. Presently he took a surreptitious glance at his watch—ten minutes past, already! Then, just as he was vaguely wondering what would happen if the bride did not appear, there was a sound of a carriage drawing up, and a moment later a tall white figure made its way slowly up the aisle, leaning on the arm of an

elderly man. The bridegroom stepped forward, Roger advanced, and began to read the marriage service. From sheer nervousness he never once raised his eyes from his hook—never, at least until, coming to the words: “Wilt thou have this woman”—he glanced at the bridegroom as he awaited his answer, and noticed, even in that brief moment, almost with repulsion, the low receding forehead, the coarse fleshy nose, which seemed to spread half over his face, the flabby cheeks and cruel mouth. “I wilt,” said the cruel mouth, and Roger gladly turned away. “Wilt thou—” he began, speaking •slowly and impressively, as he turned to the tall still figure with the bowed head. Then lie paused for the response. Had lie made a mistake? or did mme'come? “Wilt thou?” lie repeated gently, raising his eyes and looking at her for the first time. Then suddenly a beautiful deathlywhite fare was raised to his, a pan of horror-filler] desperate pleading eyes looked into his. “I—X—no—no—l can’t! X—” burst from the trembling lipi!. and the bride lay in an unconscious heap at her bridegroom’s feet. Rogex- had laid down his book, and stoopou co help her; the- bridegroom shouted distractedly for “Water, brandy, anything. Can’t anybody get something! Helen, pull yourself together. Don’t make a scene like this!” he cried angrily. “Stand' hack,” said Roger peremptorily, “give her air. Don’t jerk her

arms like that! Do you want to kill her!”

The man sullenly dropped the poor arm. ■ “It’s nothing but hysterics,” he snapped. But there was little sign of hysteria about that still white figure, and . as the moments passed and no signs of life appeared, the faces about her began to' grow more grave. “Find a medical tnan at once,” he said, then turned to a stout overdressed lady whom he took to bo the bride’s mother. “I think you had better take her home as soon as possible. lam afraid the ceremony will have to bo postponed.”

“I—l I.think so,” she answered reluctantly, while her eyes, fu’l of anxious\questioning, were searching the bridegroom’s white sullen face. “Ambrose, dear, I am so sorry Helen has been so—foolish, but she will have recovered by the afternoon, and—and you can leave by a later train.” But “dear Ambrose” was thorougly cross. ■ “I can’t make new plans ail in a minute,” he snapped ungraciously-

“I think,” said Boger gravely, “that this discussion could be better pursued elsewhere,” and a surge of hot anger rushed over him, as he looked down at the unconscious girl lying there unheeded. “I think, too, it I wou r d be only humane to lift the lady from the cold stone floor.” After what had happened, it was, of course, only natural that Boger shoidd call at Elm Lodge to enquire for the patient. She was very ill, he was told, hut he was requested to come in, which lig did gladly, and gladly too, though he could not have told why, bore with a long and woeful tale from Mrs Barclnw of all the troubles and trials that beset her. “Mr Wiggins had actually gone , away by himself, as he had threatened,” she announced indignantly, “and now, goodness only knows when the marriage will take place. lam sure Helen was well enough to go through the rest of the ceremony, if she lmd only made an effort, but she

gave way. She had taken it- into her head, too, that she did not like him. She liked him well enough before he proposed to her. Mr Wiggins was such an excellent match for her, so wealthy and so devoted, and now; well, for my part I doubt if evdr he will return. He couldn’t bear to be made to look foolish. He certainly had a curious temper, but a wife would scon find out how to manage him,” and so on until Boger’s heart ached and sickened at the tale of coercion he could read between the lines. “Does Miss Barclay know that Mr Wiggins has left?” he asked. “Oh, yes, the doctor made me tell her. It was the only way we could soothe her. She was so ridiculously excited that -the doctor said he feared for her reason if we could not find some means of calming her.”

“I am afriad it will be some time before she recovers,” remarked the young man sympathetically. Mrs Barclay sighed. “I am afraid it will. The doctor says she must have had some great strain on her mind, and both mind and body are in a state of collapse. It is very tiresome, for I wanted to give up this house, and go on a round of visits, and now I suppose I shall have to stay on and devote myself to getting Helen well by Christmas.” “Christmas?” N “Yes. Mr Wiggins lias promised to return then.”

It was only by an effort that Roger restrained an exclamation of dismay, and feeling he could endure no more, lie rose to go.

He called attain freqentlv, but did not again see Mrs Barclay, and two or three weeks elapsed before he saw Helen herself. So had never, in any of his cal's, dared to ask to see her, and apparently she had never, to his mingled relief and disappointment, expressed a wish to see him.,. Then, at last came the news that she was well enough to go out for a little walk and soon after that he met her. At the top of the hill above the town stretched a wide waste of moorland. deserted usually by all but a few cottagers who lived on it, and here it was that he met her again. She was alone, with only her dogs for company, and when Roger first eauglit sight of her, was resting on one of the big rocks which rose here and there above the bracken and heather. “I am so glad to see you out again,” he said earnestly', holding out his hand spontaneously. He did not notice the hot flood of color which poured over her thin face, for it had suddenly occurred to him that after all she might not know who this effusive stranger was. “I beg your pardon,” he broke in hastily, “probably you do not know who I am. I am Roger Durant, the curate at St.

Mark’s, I was—there—that day.” “I know,” she said quickly, “I,remember—l can never forget,” and again a flush born of emotion -and weakness rushed over her thin face.

But of the memory that brought that wave of color she could never tell him —that it was the wondering pity in his steadfast eyes, the strength" his face showed, that brought her stormtossed soul that final conviction that she could not face the torture' and degradation and misery of the fate she had contemplated.

“If I hail never seen vou again in this world,” she went on, as though she were speaking her thoughts, aloud, “I could never forget, and I have wanted so much to thank you. You saved me, body, mind and soul. I seemed to know when I saw your face

tliat- I had one friend I could appeal to, and it gave me courage.” In her weakness she was not quite mistress of herself, or she would not have said so much.'

' “Thank you,” said Boger gravely. “I am proud that you felt that. But,” he added a. moment later, “if you dread it so much, hadn’t you better speak out plainly before Mr Wiggins returns at Christmas.”

“Returns! He isn’t coming-back, is he? Who told you—why do you sav so?” she gasped. “I was given "to understand he was,” lie said slowly. There was no reason why he should not tell her the truth; lie was not told it as a secret. Yet he shrank from exposing, to her her mother’s cruel tv.

Perhaps she guessed the truth; at any rate she believed him. “In less than a month!” she groaned. Then turning to Boger with an appealing, shy trust in him, which at once and for ever showed him what his real feeling for her had become, “Mr Durant,” she said, “will you help me? ,1 have no one else I can trust.” # “You may trust me,” he said gently. “Anything I can do I will do gladly. Please always believe that. But now,” noticing her oallor, “you must think or trouble any more. You must go home and rest. We will devise some plan before Christmas comes, and all. will be right—only, you must promise to be very wise and careful, to do your best to get strong. So much® depends on that.”

“I will t y,” she said, smiling up at him with the trusting obedience of a child. Ayd then they turned and went on the’" way over the rough moorland t ether, with the mists creeping up behind them and their faces turned to the sunset.

But many a time during the next few days, as Roger battled out his doubtings by himself, he might have taken his own advice to heart. Was it quite straight and honorable to assist this girl—to what? To escape a loathed union with a coarse detestable man, who vns not only double her age, but utterly incapable of understanding he-. A union with no love on either • ' 'e, blit with something very like h.ice, mingled with dread,

on one side. A bargain between a mother readv to sell her child to the highest bidder, and a creature determined to get good value for his iponey! "To prevent such a brutal deed could he only a righteous act. So Roger always ended his meditations, and when at last he heard that his old friend John Curbery had been given the living of Medbury, a village only a mile or so distant, he walked over there and laid the case before him. John Curbery only confirmed his views.

“Would sue marry you?” asked John quietly, when their interview had nearly ended; and then he sat hack,in his cfiair to nole the effect of his words. ' “I! me! ' stammered Roger. “<oh [—no. Of course not! Besides—don’t L you see. 1 couldn’t ask her, and she might think that—well, that I had been working for my own ends all along,” and there was a. look of renunciation deep down in his grave eyes. “She won’t—unless you put it into her head,” said John bluntly. “At any rate it is worth sacrificing your pride to putting her to the test. “When is the fellow coming?”. “At Christmas. It is telling on • her already, I can see, and it is my belief that only putting hpr beyond the reach of any further fear of him, can save her health and reason.” “And it is my belief you are the only one who can do that.” said John gravely, as he saw his friend out on his homeward' way. “Hullo! snow!” “I should have to resign, shouldn’t I?” asked Roger gravely; paying no heed to the snowflakes whirling about him, or the depth to which the snow had covered the road ho had to traverse.

"Never mind,” said John. Then, as he was turning back from the door, “Come to mo when you want the ceremony performed! Don’t get snowed in.” But with John’s advice making his heart glow, the snow had no terrors for Roger. All the way he went his •brain was busy putting all the aspects of the case before himself, tormenting his heart with questions as to whether she could or would ever care for him; whether she would despise him for ">aking advantage of her need ; whether — “Where am I?” he asked himself suddenly. “I must have missed my turning!” . . . Except for the reflection of the snow, and a faint light from the- sky, it was dark now; too dark, at any rate to read the names on the signpost in front of him, and whether to go back in search of the missed turning, or to take one of the four before him, was a problem which was puzzling him when he heard the muffled sound of an. approaching horse, and ■ a moment later appeared a cab driven by a man he knew. “Welk I am thankful to see you, Robert,” ho cried, “I’ve missed my wav. Can you give me a lift?” Robert chuckled. “Why, you’re the second gen’elmen as I’ve rescued. Will ’g sit up Alongside of me, sir, or get inside in the warm with Mr. Wiggins?” “Mr! —I’ll get up beside you!” added Roger hastily. “Have you far to go?” he asked, longing to know more about his fellow passenger; hut unwilling to ask questions. “Only to the hotel, sir,” then, low-

ering his voice, “Mr. Wiggins has got to meet somebody there. I can’t promise, though, to wait and take- him hack to Westleigh, my horse is tired.”

“He’s staying at Westleigh?” . “Yes sir, till Christmas, I believe.” Tin's information came, to Roger almost as an answer to his doubts. The man was come again to claim his victim : this time there would be no escape for her —unless—unless. In tho snowy silence Roger, made a vow that the man behind him should never claim her. The very next morning he would see her, and —suggest his mode of escape.

But Roger had reckoned without the snow. In the night the remembrance of it came to him, and his spirits sank to zero.. He went to tho window and lokecj out. Yes, it was still falling heavily—and there were but seven days to Christmas, and that man was in the nlace !

Poor Roger got no sleep that night, but the very snow which threatened to be his undoing, proved, after all, to friend., for Mrs Barclay, had been detained so long at the hotel over the interview with her future son-in-law that Helen had gone out into the snow in search of her, and finding her had found out also the object of her errand ‘

And in the end the snow proved her friend too, for the next day none but those who were obliged to ventured out in it. .In the streets there was scarcely a soul abroad, while the country was quite deserted. So deserted that the one tall figure she met loomed quite alarmingly out of "the whiteness. Helen, though, had no room for alarm, or conventionality, or any thought hut one. “He has come !” she gasped, seizing Roger’s hand, and suddenly began to sob weakly. “I know,” he answered softly. “I knew it last night, and I have been longing ever since to see you. I have a plan, one that will put you quite beyond his power—if—if only you will take it.” “Of course I’ll take it! I don’t care how hard it is/ she cried feverishly, “tell me—what is it?”

“That you marry me,” said Roger

gently. But with a low cry Helen sprang from him. For a moment utter silence held them both, then— “How could you dream that I would let you sacrifice yourself to that extent,” she said icily, with frozen face, and eyes dark with pain. “Sacrifice!” he cried, “0, my love, don’t you know!” And then with nothing around them by the gleaming snow and the sighing wind he told fier what the “sacrifice” would mean to him —the happiness past understanding, the greatest good that earth or heaven could send him—if she but loved him ! It was hard to Helen after that walk to. wear again at home the air of grave sadness that had been hers so long, hard to keep her eyes from betraying her secret, her feet from dancing. But there was enough of peril in her position to make her serious too, while Roger and John managed the mysterious business of license und date, and all other matters which before had seemed so horror-laden. And it was only till Christmas Eve that she had to act her part

It was Christmas Eve, the day when she was to give her answer to Ambrose .Wiggins, und her consent. The' day when she was to Hake her morning walk with her dogs' in the direc.•cion of Medbury, with the church for ner destination, and Roger, for her safeguard and shelter for evermore. In Westleigh Mr Wiggins was devoting all his time and thought to ’his toilet, until at last the happy moment came when, gorgeously arrayed,he stepped into the carriage which was to convey him to Helen, his mind full of the victory which was to be his at last.

And while he was admiring the flashing pendant he was carrying to her as a sign of his forgiveness, Roger Durant, within a- mile of him, was looking with misty eyes at a slim hoop of gold, and John Curbery, after putting the last touch to the modest wedding breakfast spread in liis bachelor apartments, was nervously stirring the fire in the vestry, and Helen! —Helen herself was speeding with glad wistful eyes and fast-beating heart towards the little church where the two men awaited her; her love the only Christmas or wedding gift for one, her gratitude and warm liking her only offering to the other. With food and fair mromiscs the dogs were beguiled to the vicarage/ and then, quite alone, she walked to the' church, and her fate. But at the door her “fate” met her, and what better, could she desire? There was no stumbling this time over the marriage service, no hesitation over'the answer, “I will.” Then, the service ended, out they walked, together into the sunlight and the gladness, while John, with a wistful smile on his lips as he watched them go, turned, and mounting to the belfry himself gave the signal for their wedding peal.