God's Good Man Part 77

And it was after Ipsie that Maryllia ran, to cover her smiles and blushes as the echo of the children's mirth pealed through the garden,--and with the pretty blue-eyed little creature clinging to her hand, she came back again sedately, with all her own winsome and fairy-like stateliness to thank them for their good wishes.

"They mean it so well, John!" she said afterwards, when the youngsters, still laughing and cheering, had gone away with their crowned symbol of the dawning spring--"and they love you so much! I never knew of any man that was loved so much by so many people in one little place as you are, John! And to be loved by all the children is a great thing;--I think--of course I cannot be quite sure--but I think it is an exceptional thing--for a clergyman!"

With rose-crowned June, the rose-window in the church of St. Rest was filled in and completed. Maryllia had found all the remaining ancient stained gla.s.s that had been needed to give the finis.h.i.+ng touch to its beauty, and the loveliest deep gem-like hues shone through the carven apertures like rare jewels in a perfect setting.

The rays of light filtering through them were wonderful and mystical,--such as might fall from the pausing wings of some great ministering angel,--and under the blaze of splendid colour, the white sarcophagus with its unknown 'Saint' asleep, lay steeped in soft folds of crimson and azure, gold and amethyst, while even the hollow notches in the sculptured word 'Resurget' seemed filled with delicate tints like those painted by old-world monks on treasured missals. And presently one morning came,--warm with the breath of summer, sunny and beautiful,--when the window was solemnly re- consecrated by Bishop Brent at ten o'clock,--a consecration followed by the loud and joyous ringing of the bells, and a further sacred ceremony,--the solemnisation of matrimony between John Walden and Maryllia Vancourt. All the village swarmed out like a hive of bees from their honey-cells to see their 'Pa.s.son' married. Hundreds of honest and affectionate eyes looked love on the bride, as clad in the simplest of simple white gowns, with a plain white veil draping her from head to foot, she came walking to the church across the warm clover-scented fields, like any village maid, straight from the Manor, escorted only by Cicely, her one bridesmaid. At the churchyard gate, she was met by all the youngest girls of the school, arrayed in white, who, carrying rush baskets full of wild flowers, scattered them before her as she moved,--and when she arrived at the church porch, she was followed by the little child Ipsie, whose round fair cherub-like face reflected one broad smile of delight, and who carried between her two tiny hands a basket full to overflowing of old French damask roses, red as the wine-glow of a summer sunset. The church was crowded,--not only by villagers but by county folks,--for everyone from near or far that could be present at what they judged to be a 'strange' wedding--namely a wedding for love and love alone--had mustered in force for the occasion. One or two had stayed away from a certain sense of discrepancy in themselves, to which it is needless to refer. Sir Morton Pippitt was among these. He felt,--but what he felt is quite immaterial. And so far as his daughter was concerned, she, as Bainton expressed it, had 'gone a' visitin'.' The Ittlethwaites, of Ittlethwaite Park, in all the glory of their Magnum Chartus forebears were present, as were the Mandeville-Porehams--while to Julian Adderley was given the honour of being Walden's 'best man.' He, as the music of the wedding voluntary poured from the organ, through the flower-scented air, wondered doubtfully whether poetic inspiration would ever a.s.sist him in such wise as to enable him to express in language the exquisite sweetness of Maryllia's face, as, standing beside the man whose tender and loyal love she was surer of than any other possession in this world she repeated in soft accents the vow: "to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey till death do us part!"

And when Bishop Brent placed her little hand in that of his old college friend, and pressed them tenderly together, he felt, looking at the heavenly light that beamed from her sweet eyes, that not even death itself could part her fond soul from that of the man whom she loved, and who loved her so purely and faithfully in G.o.d's sight.

Thus, when p.r.o.nouncing the words--"Those whom G.o.d hath joined together, let no man. put asunder!" he was deeply conscious that for once at least in the troublous and uncertain ways of the modern world, the holy bond of wedlock was approved of in such wise as to be final and eternal.

Away in London, on this same marriage day, Lady Roxmouth, formerly Mrs. Fred Vancourt, sat at luncheon in her sumptuously furnished house in Park Lane, and looked across the table at her husband, while he lazily sipped a gla.s.s of wine.

"That ridiculous girl Maryllia has married her parson by this time I suppose,"--she said--"Of course it's perfectly scandalous. Lady Beaulyon was quite disgusted when she heard of it--such an alliance for a Vancourt! And Mr. and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay tell me that the man Walden is quite an objectionable person--positively booris.h.!.+

It's dreadful really! But who could ever have imagined she would recover from that hunting spill? Wentworth Glynn said she was crippled for life. He told me so himself."

"Well, he was wrong evidently,"--said Roxmouth, curtly. "English surgeons are very clever, but they are not always infallible. This time an Italian has beaten them."

"Perhaps she was not so seriously injured as the local man at St.

Rest made her out to be,"--pursued her ladys.h.i.+p reflectively.

Roxmouth said nothing. She studied his face with amused scrutiny.

"Perhaps it was another little ruse to get rid of you and your wooing,"--she went on--"Dear me! What an extraordinary contempt Maryllia always had for you to be sure!"

He moved restlessly, and she smiled--a hard little smile.

"I guess you're hankering after her still!" she hinted.

"Your remarks are in rather bad taste,"--he rejoined, coldly, helping himself to another gla.s.s of wine.

She rose from her chair, and came round the table to where he sat, laying a heavily jewelled hand on his shoulder.

"Well, you've got ME!" she said--"And all I'm worth! And you 'love'

me, don't you?"

She laughed a little.

He looked full at her,--at her worn, hard, artificially got-up face, her fas.h.i.+onable frock, and her cold, expressionless eyes.

"Oh yes!" he answered, drily--"I 'love' you! You know I do. We understand each other!"

"I guess we do!" she thought to herself as she left him--"And when I'm tired of being called 'My lady' or 'Your Grace' I'll divorce him! And I'll take care he isn't a penny the richer! There's always that game to play, and you bet the Smart Set know how to play it!"

But of the ways, doings or saying of the Smart Set the village of St. Rest knows little and cares less. It dozes peacefully with the sun in its eyes, year in and year out, under the shadow of the eastern hills, with its beloved 'Pa.s.son' and now its equally beloved 'Pa.s.son's wife,' as king and queen of its tiny governmental concerns, drawing health and peace, contentment and tranquillity from the influences of nature, unspoilt by contact with the busier and wearier world. 'Pa.s.son Walden's' wedding-day was the chief great historic event of its conscious life. For on that never-to-be- forgotten and glorious occasion, the tenantry of Abbot's Manor, together with all the villagers and the school-children were entertained at an open-air festival and dance, which lasted all the afternoon and evening, on the broad smooth greensward encircling the famous 'Five Sister' beeches where bride and bridegroom had looked upon each other for the first time. What a high tide of simple revelry it was to be sure! Never had the delicate tremulous green foliage of the rescued trees waved over a happier scene. 'Many a kiss both odd and even' was exchanged among lads and la.s.ses at that blithe merry-making,--even Cicely and Julian Adderley were not always to be found when they were wanted, having taken to 'composing music and poetry together,' which no doubt quite accounted for their long rambles together away from all the rest of the merry crowd.

Mrs. Spruce, with a circle of her gossips round her, sat talking the whole livelong day on the 'ways o' the Lord bein' past findin' out.'

"For," said she, "when Miss Maryllia first come 'ome she 'adn't an idee o' goin' to hear Pa.s.son Walden, an' sez I 'do-ee go an' hear 'im,' an' she sez--'No, Spruce, I cannot, I don't believe in it'-- an' I sez to myself, 'never mind, the Lord 'e knows 'is own, which He do, but 'ard as are His ways I never did think He'd a' brought her to be Pa.s.son's wife,--that do beat me, though it's just what it should be, an' if the Lord don't know what should be why then no one don't, an' that 'minds me o' when I sent for Pa.s.son to see me unpack Miss Maryllia's boxes, he was that careful he made me pick up a pair o' pink shoes what 'ad fell on the floor--'Take care o' them,' he sez--Lor!--now I come to think of it, he was mortal struck over them pink shoes!"

And Bainton commenting on general events observed:--

"Well, I did say once that if Pa.s.son were married he'd be a fine man spoilt, but I've altered my mind now! I think he's a fine man full growed at last, like a plant what's stopped a bit an' suddenly takes a start an' begins to flower. An' so far as my own line goes, if Missis Walden, bless 'er, comes round me talkin' about the rectory garden, which is to be kep' up just the same as ever, an' fusses like over the lilac bush what he broke a piece off of for her, well!--I DID say I'd never 'ave a petticut round MY work--but a pretty petticut's worth looking at, it is reely now!"

So the harmless chatter among the village folks went on, and the feasting, dancing and singing lasted long. Chief of important personages among all that gathered under the old beech-trees was Josey Letherbarrow,--very feeble,--very dim of eye, but stout of heart and firm of opinion as ever. Beside him sat Bishop Brent,-- with Walden himself and his bride,--for from his venerable hands Maryllia had sought the first blessing on her marriage as soon as the wedding ceremony had ended.

"Everything's all right if we'll only believe it!" he said now, looking with a wistful tenderness from one to the other--"Life's all right--death's all right! I'm sartin sure I'll find everything just as I've hoped an' prayed for't when I gets to th' other side o' this world, for I've 'ad my 'art's best wish given to me when all 'ope seemed over--an' that was to see Squire's gel 'appy! An' she IS 'appy!--look at 'er, as fresh as a little rose all smilin' an' ready to bloom on 'er husband's lovin' 'art! Ah! Th' owld Squire would a'

been proud to see 'em this bright day! And as for the Lord A'mighty He knows what He's about I tell ye!" and Josey nodded his head with great sagacity--"Some folks think He don't--but He do!"

The Bishop smiled.

"Verily I have not found so great a faith--no, not in Israel!"--he murmured, as presently he rose and strolled away by himself for a while to muse and meditate. Towards sunset Walden, going in search of him found him in the rose garden, looking at the profuse red cl.u.s.ters of bloom in the old French damask border.

"How they smile openly to the sun!" he said, pointing to them, as John approached--"Like love!--or faith!"

John was silent a moment. Then he said suddenly--

"Are you going over to Rome, Harry?"

"No!" And Brent's eyes looked full into those of his friend, straightly and steadfastly. "Not now. I will do the work appointed for me to the end!"

"Thank G.o.d!" said Walden, simply. And their hands met in a close grasp, thereby sealing a wordless compact, never to be broken.

The sun sank and the moon began to rise. Song and dance gradually ceased, and the happy villagers began to disperse, and wend their ways homeward. Love was in the air--love breathed in the perfume of the flowers--love tuned the throats of the pa.s.sionate nightingales that warbled out their mating songs in every hazel copse and from ever acacia bough in the Manor woods, and love seemed, as the poet says, to 'sit astride o' the moon' as its silver orb peered over the gables of the Manor itself and poured a white shower of glory on the sweet face and delicate form of Maryllia, as she stood in the old Tudor courtyard, now a veritable wilderness of flowers, with her husband's arm round her, listening to the faint far-off singing of the villagers returning to their homes through the scented green lanes.

"Everyone has been happy to-day!" she said, looking up with a smile- -"All the world around us seems to thank G.o.d!"

"All the world would thank Him if it could but find what we have found!" answered John, drawing her close to his heart--"All it wants, all it needs, both for itself and others, for this world and the next, is simply--Love!"

THE END