CHAPTER XXXVI
TELLS HOW I MET ANTHONY AGAIN
"What with banns and certif'cates and this and that and t'other, theydon't make it very easy for people to get married, do they,Peregrine?"
"No!" I answered.
We were jolting Tonbridge-wards in the Tinker's cart; the afternoonwas very hot, and Diogenes, hearing the murmur of our voices, subsidedto a leisured amble like the knowing, four-footed philosopher he was.
"Seven pounds seems a lot to pay for just one gown--even if it is tomarry you in, doesn't it, Peregrine?"
"In three weeks!" I added.
"And four days!" she nodded.
"Twenty-five days--it's an age, Diana! Much may happen in such atime--"
"It will, Peregrine!"
"Pray what?"
"Lots of things, banns and certif-icates and--my new dress as willcost so much--"
"Seven pounds is ridiculously cheap, you dear child! And talking ofbanns, it may seem strange, Diana, that I have never troubled toenquire your surname, nor should I bother you now but that the parsonmust know--"
"Well, it's not so very strange that I've never bothered to tell youmy name, Peregrine, because I don't know it. Old Azor often told me Ihad no name, but the Folk I lived with, theirs was Lovel--that'll do,won't it?"
"Of course! Goddesses don't need surnames."
"Will you still think me a goddess when we're married, Peregrine?"
"No, as something infinitely dearer and more precious."
"What?"
"My wife! It--it sounds strange on my lips, doesn't it?"
"I love the way you say it!" sighed Diana, and with such a look in hereyes that I clasped her to me and she, all unresisting, gave up herlips to mine. So, for a space, we forgot all but ourselves and I grewblind to all but her beauty, deaf to all but her voice.
"O Peregrine!" she sighed. "O Peregrine, I never thought love could beso--wonderful!"
"In three weeks you will be mine utterly, Diana--in three weeks!"
"I am now, Peregrine. I could never love--never, never marry any onebut you. I never meant to marry because I never thought I could loveany man--but now--O Peregrine!"
"Dear," said I, "if--if anything should happen to separate us, couldyou--would you always love me?"
"Always, Peregrine, always and for ever. Hark, there is some onecoming."
Faint and far rose the sound of hoofs and, glancing up, I espied thedistant forms of two equestrians and also observed that theperspicacious Diogenes, quick to heed and take advantage of our lapse,had halted to crop and nibble busily in the shade of a great tree thatstretched one mighty branch protectingly above us.
"People are coming, Peregrine."
"I know, but they are still very far off; besides we are in theshade--kiss me again, Diana."
The advancing hoofs sounded nearer and presently, obedient to therein, Diogenes ambled on again; and now I saw that the approachingriders were a lady and gentleman and mounted on spirited animals for,as they drew nearer, it seemed to me that the lady had much difficultyin managing her fiery steed.
Now between us and these riders was another tall tree that cast ajagged shadow athwart the white road, noting which, I kept my gaze onthe lady's mount somewhat anxiously.
My apprehensions were suddenly realised for, reaching this patch ofshadow, the lady's horse shied, swerved suddenly, and hurled his riderinto the ditch.
Diana cracked the whip and Diogenes broke into a gallop, but longbefore we had come up with them, the gentleman was off his horse, hadlifted the swooning woman in his arms, and was pouring out abreathless farrago of endearments and prayers with curses uponhimself, his helplessness and the jibbing horse.
"Barbara, dear love--oh, damnation and the devil, what shall Ido--Barbara, are you much hurt, dearest--the accursed brute--athousand curses--look at me, beloved, speak--O God have mercy on her!"
Now glancing at the beautiful, pale face of this swooning girl, Istarted, and looking from her to the athletic form and handsomefeatures of this distracted youth who clasped her, I caught my breath;and then Diana had leapt from the cart and, pushing aside thismiserable, helping being, had busied herself to recover theunconscious girl in her own quick, capable fashion.
"A woman!" gasped the gentleman. "O God bless you--thank heaven! Sayshe isn't dead--you'll want water--not a drop for miles,dammit--brandy--not a spot--oh, curse and confound it--say she isn'tdead!"
"She's not!" said Diana briefly.
"God bless you again! Tell me what to do?"
"Go away and leave her to me."
"But how can I leave her?"
"I must loose her stays--you'll find a brook t' other side thehedge--in your hat!"
Scarcely were the words uttered than the gentleman was over the hedgeand as quickly back again, slopping water right and left from hismodish, curly-brimmed hat in his frantic haste; this he set down atDiana's command and, turning away, began to stride up and down,muttering agitated anathemas upon himself and scowling ferociously atthe two horses, which I had taken the opportunity to hitch to anadjacent gatepost.
At last in his restless tramping he seemed to become aware of me whereI sat, for I had climbed back into the cart, and he now addressed me,though with his anxious gaze bent towards the unconscious form of hiscompanion.
"Good God, man--this is pure damnation! If you can't do anything,since I can't do anything, can't you suggest something I can do?"
"Only that you strive for a little patience, sir."
At this he turned to stare at me, then his grey eyes widened suddenly,and he leapt at me with both hands outstretched.
"Vereker!" he cried. "Peregrine--Perry, by all that's wonderful."
"Anthony!" said I, as our hands gripped.
"Peregrine--O Perry, we--we were married--not an hour ago--Barbara andI--and now--"
"Look!" said I and nodded where Barbara sat, her pale check pillowedon Diana's bosom.
"Anthony!" she called softly. And then he was beside her on his knees,his head down-bent, her arm about his neck.
"Perry!" he called suddenly. "Come here, man, come here! Sure youhaven't forgot the angel who stooped to a miserable dog, who trusted adesperate-seeming rogue and lifted him back to manhood andself-respect--you remember my Barbara? And you, dearest, recall myfriend Peregrine--the gentle, immaculate youth who was willing totrust and bestow his friendship upon the same miserable dog anddesperate rogue--aye, and fed him into the bargain--"
"How should I ever forget?" said Barbara. "Indeed, Mr. Vereker, wehave talked of you often--though always as 'Peregrine'--"
"Mrs. Vere-Manville," I began.
"It was Barbara at the 'Jolly Waggoner'!" she reminded me, smiling andnestling closer into her husband's encircling arm.
"Barbara--Anthony," said I, "it is my happy privilege to introduceDiana--Miss Lovel--who is to honour me by becoming my wife shortly--"
Anthony bowed to Diana, laughed, and drew his wife a little closer allin the same moment, it seemed; then Barbara turned to look into thevivid, dark beauty of Diana's down-bent face where she knelt, and fora long moment eyes of blue stared up into eyes of grey, a long,questioning look.
"May I kiss you?" said Barbara at last.
Swiftly, almost eagerly, Diana leaned forward, then hesitated, drewaway, and glanced swiftly upon each of us in turn with a troubledlook.
"Lady," said she in her rich, soft voice, and speaking with carefuldeliberation, "Peregrine has not told you--all. Please look at me--mydress--"
"Very pretty, I think, and quaint--like a gipsy's--"
"I am a gipsy, lady--one Peregrine met by the roadside! 'T is best youshould know this--first--before--before--"
The soft, sweet voice faltered and stopped and there fell a silence, along, tense moment wherein I held my breath, I think, and wasconscious of the heavy beating of my heart, but with every throb Iloved and honoured Diana the more. Slowly and gently Barbara loosedher husband's clasping arm and rose to her knees.
"N
ow--I _must_ kiss you, Diana!" she said.
"O lady!" sighed Diana.
"Barbara, my dear! Barbara ever and always!"
"Barbara!" murmured Diana. And then they were in each other's arms andAnthony was on his feet and tucking his arm in mine led me where thehorses stood tethered, with such disconnected mutterings as:
"Come away, Perry--true blue, 'egad--leave 'em together--angels ofheaven both--too good for me--or even you--not a doubt of it--"
"Agreed!" quoth I.
"Peregrine," said he, pausing suddenly to grasp me by the shoulders inhis well-remembered way, "O Peregrine, she is the loveliest, sweetest,tenderest creature that ever made a man wish himself better--"
"Anthony," quoth I, "she is the bravest, noblest, purest maid that evertaught a man to be better!"
"She is, Peregrine!"
"They are, Anthony!"
"For one frightful moment I thought she--was killed, Perry!"
"But God is good and--Diana was there, Anthony."
"A wonderful creature, your Diana, Perry, as capable as she ishandsome!"
"She is beyond all description, Anthony!"
"Yes, I can find no word for Barbara, damme!"
Now as he looked down on me, his handsome face radiant, his powerfulform set off by the most elegant attire, I could not but contrast himwith the forlorn, down-at-heels outcast he had been.
"It seems I have much to congratulate you upon," said I.
"God, yes, Peregrine! And I owe you a guinea--here it is! Mycurmudgeonly uncle (Heaven rest him!) had the kindness to chokehimself to death in a fit of passion. And to-day, Perry, to-day--wegave 'the Gorgon' the slip (Barbara's aunt)--got married and are nowon our way to outface her father--a regular Tartar by allaccounts--and there's the situation in a word."
"You haven't lost much time, Anthony."
"Nor have you for that matter, Perry. And I've ten thousand things totell you, and questions to ask you and--Ha, thank God, she's on herfeet! Look at 'em--did ever mortal eyes behold two loveliercreatures?" And away he strode impetuous towards where they stood, thedark and the fair, with arms entwined, viewing each other'sbeauteousness glad-eyed.
"My brave girl! How are you now?"
"Better--oh, much better, dear Anthony, though I fear I cannot ride--"
"Not to be thought of, my sweet--Gad, no--not for a moment!"
"Diana has offered to drive me in the cart, Anthony."
"Excellent! We can hire a chaise at Hadlow!"
So very soon, behold us jolting along in the Tinker's cart verymerrily, Anthony and I perched upon the tailboard, the two horsestrotting behind a little disdainfully, as it seemed to me, judging bythe flirting of their tails, head-shakings and repeated snorts.
"And what might you be doing now, Perry?" enquired my companion,swinging his long, booted legs and stealing a backward glance at hisfair, young wife seated on the driving seat beside Diana. "Isn't sheperfectly wonderful?" he murmured.
"She is!" I answered.
"Her hair," he sighed; "her hair, you'll notice, is--"
"The most glorious in all the world!" quoth I.
"Absolutely, Perry! Beyond all doubt--"
"Though it is not really black, Anthony--"
"Black!" he exclaimed, turning on me with a sort of leap.
"No, not black, Anthony, sometimes it seems full of small fires--"
Now at this he laughed and I laughed, all unheeded by the two upon thedriving seat who talked softly and questioned each other with theirlovely faces very close together, while Diogenes the knowing slowed tohis meditative amble.
"You must forgive me, Perry, I--I've only been a Benedict since twoo'clock. But tell me of yourself; what you are doing, how you live andwhere?"
"I am learning the art of working in iron, Anthony, and of making andmending kettles--"
"Gad--a tinker, Perry?"
"Yes. And I am living in a wood with one Jerry Jarvis, Jessamy Todd,and Diana--"
"The famous Jessamy?"
"Yes. He is instructing me in the noble art."
"Good heavens! And your--your people?"
"They perforce acquiesce."
"In--in everything, Perry--your marriage?"
"What else can they do?"
"And when you are married, how shall you live?"
"Travel the country tinkering with Jerry--or buy a cottage until Icome into my property."
"And then, Perry?"
"I--don't know. You see, Anthony, if--if the people in our worldshould make any difficulty about the pure angel who will be my wife,well, I'll see the people of our world damned and go back to mycottage."
"No, you shall come to us, Perry, to Barbara and me, we shall alwaysbe proud and happy to welcome you both--in country or town and asfor--your Diana, such beauty may surely go anywhere, and my Barbara isin love with her already, 'egad. Look at 'em, Perry, look at 'em! Didever eyes behold two such gloriously handsome creatures?"
Thus we talked of things that had been and of things that were to be,making many plans for the future, a future which, by reason of youthand love, stretched before each one of us in radiant perspective. Sowe talked and laughed, finding joy in all things, more especially ineach other and were all a little sorry, I think, when the amblingDiogenes brought us to Hadlow at last. And here, at the "Bear" we satdown to a merry meal that ended all too soon.
"Good-bye--oh, good-bye, dearest Diana!" sighed Barbara a littletearfully, as she leaned from the chaise for a last caress. "If I havelearned to love you so quickly don't let it seem strange--it is justbecause you are Diana--and I have so few friends, and none like you.So be my friend, Diana, will you, dear--and when you are married bringyour husband to see us in London--or wherever we happen to be,only--oh, be my friend, because--I love you."
"I will," said Diana, "your friend always, because--I love you too."
So the chaise rolled away. And presently Diana and I jogged camp-wardsbehind Diogenes, through an evening fragrant with new-mown hay; fromtree and hedgerow birds were singing their vesper hymn and we droveawhile in wistful silence. But suddenly Diana turned and caught myhand so that I wondered at the eager clasp of these fingers and thetremulous yearning in her voice when she spoke.
"O Peregrine--oh, my dear--if only God would make me--like her--alady--like Barbara. Do you think He would if--I pray--very hard?"
"Of course!" said I, kissing her hand. "Though, indeed--"
"Then I will, dear Peregrine--this very night--and every night."