Tales from Many Sources Part 16

"Dear Betty," she said, "it is doubtless a very good thing to be in love with a stranger romantically, but still--"

"He is no stranger," said Betty quickly.

"No, no, not to be called a stranger," cried Mary, laughing--"an old and valued friend of two months' standing."

"The time is short," said Betty thoughtfully. "But a whole lifetime seems to have pa.s.sed in that s.p.a.ce! My father," she cried, as Mr. Ives entered the room, "here is Mistress Mary Jones."

"Come to offer my warmest good wishes," said the lady, "and also all the a.s.sistance in my power when the important day approaches."

"I shall indeed be glad and grateful for your help," said Betty affectionately.

Mr. Ives persuaded Mary to remain for supper. The candles were brought in, and the room looked bright and cheery.

"Stay with me and cheer my loneliness," said the parson cheerily. "The young folk will stroll in the garden till supper be ready. I am too old for dewy twilight walks, egad."

Was it a new idea that flashed into Mary's mind that caused her to start? She glanced at Mr. Ives' comely person, at his glossy ca.s.sock, his smartly-buckled shoes, at the neat tie-wig which surmounted a face which she hastily p.r.o.nounced as handsome as it ever had been.

With a sweep of her fan Mistress Mary renounced her waning youth.

"Stay with you!" she cried, "that will I! and you and I from the window will superintend our dear young ones. Alas!" she said, with a languis.h.i.+ng look, "how lonely the house will seem when you are bereft of your daughter."

Mr. Ives sighed deeply.

Outside in the gloaming, Betty Ives and her young lover walked slowly backwards and forwards under the orchard trees.

"No father, no mother, no sisters!" she said, looking up into his face.

"No one to love, no one to love you!"

"I do not know whether I am to be pitied," he answered with a light laugh. "My life has been one of strange vicissitudes. No, no, sweet Bet; I have often thanked G.o.d that no one shared my life."

"But you will never do so again," she said earnestly.

"Sweetheart!" he answered. "Until you have once drunk of the cup of happiness you know not what it is; but once tasted, you can ill spare it thenceforth."

"Ah, some day you will tell me about this life of yours--will you not?"

"Some day, my heart, when you and I are alone together in the fair woods of Belton--when you are my precious wife, and when days have pa.s.sed on, and our full trust and confidence each in the other is proved and strengthened by time. But not now, beloved, not now."

"Have you known griefs, sorrows?"

"A few."

"Happiness?"

"Yes, and triumphs often."

Betty bent down her head thoughtfully; fain would she have swept away the veil of mystery which surrounded her betrothed, but she would take no step to do so--no confidence was precious save that which was given unasked.

The twilight gathered softly. Presently Betty turned round, and placed her two clasped hands on his arm, her n.o.ble head proudly raised, her large eyes seeking his.

"Look you," she said, "there is something I would wish to say to you.

You and I are to be man and wife--and I have accepted you--I know nothing of you, John--I know not whence you come, or from among what kinsfolk; I have taken all on trust. I love you, John, so I fear not.

They say that perfect love casteth out fear. There can be no dark secret in your life, no deed or deeds that you shame to disclose to me.

I take you with infinite faith. So tell me what you will, dear, or as much as you will. My heart will give you grat.i.tude for the confidence you give to me, and, John, my love shall cover your silence."

With a sudden impulse John Johnstone was down on his knees, he pressed her hands to his lips with a pa.s.sion akin to wors.h.i.+p.

"My life, my love!" he cried--"my whole life shall be devoted to rewarding your trust in me. Oh, would to G.o.d I were more worthy of you!"

Within the house Mistress Mary and Mr. Ives were very comfortable: they played a game of patience together (in which the former was a great proficient), they chatted, they waxed confidential, and not till Dame Martha summoned them to sup, did they perceive the lapse of time. Mr.

Ives called from the window, and the betrothed pair came in, their eyes s.h.i.+ning and dazzled by the bright light.

Matters went on happily thus for many days--it seemed that the course of true love was to run very smooth--when one evening a little incident occurred that startled all.

The little party of four were dining together, as they generally did.

Mr. Ives was in a merry mood: he poured out a gla.s.s of good red wine, wine that was not often brought forth from the depth of his cellar; he bade John Johnstone fill up his gla.s.s, and as each gentleman raised it br.i.m.m.i.n.g to his lips, pledged "His sacred Majesty, good King George."

With a sharp rattle John Johnstone's gla.s.s crashed untasted on the table, and the red wine splashed like blood on the white napery.

The parson looked at him, and the colour forsook his cheek.

Mistress Mary glanced tremulously from one to another, and half rose in consternation.

The colour flushed high in Betty Ives' cheek. "Was this then the mystery?"

The absent king held all her sympathies.

Mr. Ives moved back his chair from the table, and said somewhat unsteadily:

"Good sir, I am a man of peace. I love order and a strong government.

Can I hazard my daughter by--"

Now, strangely enough, Mary Jones came to the rescue.

"Sirs," she said, "allow me to make a proposition; it is this, that not one of us breathe a word elsewhere of what has happened tonight. For heaven's sake say nothing, keep all dark, and on this understanding,"

she stooped forward and daintily raised her own gla.s.s, "I also pledge his Majesty over the sea."

But Mr. Ives did not recover his spirits that night: presentiments of evil haunted him, misgivings that he had not done wisely by his darling.

When the small hours of the morning struck he still lay awake, tossing restlessly to and fro.

CHAPTER V.

The days pa.s.sed on, and now all the world lay under a pall of white snow. Under their dazzling mantle gleamed the dark p.r.i.c.kly leaves of the holly-trees with abundance of scarlet berries. Here and there a little robin-redbreast hopped to and fro, chiefly gathering round the latticed windows of the parsonage, where morning and evening Betty fed hundreds of feathered pensioners.