"If you please."
"As the accepted husband of Miss Meadows?"
"Again, if you please."
"No, I don't please, until I hear what all this humbug means."
"Upon my word, I scarcely know myself, old fellow. I only know that I've been accepted. That knowledge is sufficient."
"Felix Armstrong, have you parted with your senses? Do you mean to tell me that you are going voluntarily to put your neck into a noose without a moment's thought as to possibilities of———"
"Strangulation! Say it. I know that's what you imply. Yes, I mean to tell you that. See here, old fellow, you are the best friend I have in the world. If you were to tell me that you required this hand to-morrow I would give it you."
"Thank you; I was never an advocate of vivisection, and I wouldn't accept your present, especially as it seems you require it for another service." I spoke with a tinge of bitterness, because I felt that Felix was rushing heedlessly into an equivocal position.
"Well, will you shake it in the cause of friendship?" That was the lovable side of Felix. I took it, and held it for a moment, until I saw a tear glistening in his eye. I veritably believe there was one in mine also.
"But have you fathomed all that about the prospects of penal servitude?"
"No, I confess I haven't. That's what I was leading up to a moment since. There are cases where we may be called upon to act in a spirit of self-sacrifice. I would do anything for you, old fellow. My love for her— though I've struggled against it—is no less sacred."
"But has she offered no further explanation?"
"No; on the contrary, she asked me, if she consented, whether I was willing to accept all risks."
"And you replied—"
"Yes."
"This is absurd. Still, I know from experience that it's useless trying to turn you from your purpose. When is it to be?"
"In four weeks' time."
"Where?"
"At Bath."
"Why are you going that deuce of a journey?"
"She wishes it."
"Humph! Quite in keeping with other eccentricities. May I come to see you—"
"Executed! Oh, yes; it's the favour I was about to ask."
"Very well, I'll accompany you. She's agreeable?"
"Perfectly."
Then we discussed other matters; but I could see all the time that he was thinking of her. I could see, too, that, though his passion for this woman was so strong, there still remained the slightest tinge of suspicion. Mingled with it was the ingredient of pride—pride that he was about to carry off a prize which many others had sought for in vain.
As a man I admired his tenacity of purpose, and the confidence he was prepared to repose, spite of all risks, in one he loved; as a friend I had misgivings—who would not have had?—as to whether that confidence was worthily reposed. It has always been my policy in life, however, never to resist the inevitable. That simply means butting your head against a brick wall, and is a diversion which the wall only reciprocates with headaches.
The four weeks soon slipped away, and on a dull morning in February we found ourselves—Felix and I—the solitary occupants, if I may except the verger, of St. Mary's Church, Bath. The wedding was to be a quiet one. There were to be no bridesmaids. An uncle of Theresa—a Mr. Steadman—was to give her away, and we were to drive to his house afterwards for the wedding breakfast.
We had arrived punctually at eleven. At a quarter past, one or two stragglers entered the church, but no bride. At half-past the verger came to us and said the clergyman was in attendance, and waiting to proceed with the ceremony—a delicate hint to which Felix sarcastically retorted by asking if it were a usual thing for the rev. gentleman to perform the marriage ceremony in the absence of the bride?
Even as he spoke a strange couple entered the church. One was an elderly gentleman, erect and smiling; the other, an old lady closely veiled, attired in a red cotton gown, a small shawl, and coal-scuttle bonnet.
I was too much astonished at first to notice my friend. That he was greatly agitated I could tell by the quivering hand he laid upon my shoulder. He walked down the aisle, and met the curious pair
