CHAPTER VII
I
"Stephen, wilt thou take Marjorie here present for thy lawful wife,according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Church?"
Audibly and distinctly resounded the voice of Father Farmer throughoutthe little church as he read from the Roman Ritual the form of thesacrament of Matrimony.
"I will," answered Stephen deliberately.
"Marjorie, wilt thou take Stephen here present for thy lawful husband,according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Church?"
"I will," was the soft response.
The two then joined their right hands and repeated one after the otherthe pledge by which they took each other for man and wife; Stephenfirst, then Marjorie.
"I, Stephen, take thee Marjorie for my lawful wife, to have and to hold,from this day forward, for better; for worse, for richer, for poorer, insickness and in health, until death do us part."
Solemnly and reverently the priest raised his right hand over them as hepronounced the blessing.
"Ego conjungo vos in matrimonium, in nomine Patris et Filii, et SpiritusSancti, Amen."
The ring having been blessed before them, Stephen placed it onMarjorie's finger saying the prescribed words, after which they awaitedthe prayers of the priest. Father Farmer turned to the altar and atonce began the Nuptial Mass, according to the ceremony of the CatholicChurch, and pronounced over them the Nuptial Blessing.
This made an end of the marriage ceremony.
It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Marjorie as she turnedfrom the sanctuary and made her way down the aisle of the little church.Her hand lay on Stephen's arm, but it seemed to her as if she werehanging from it. She was happy; that, of course. But she thought, too,that she was extremely nervous, and the more she thought over herself,the more she felt that she appeared extremely self-conscious.
The church was quite filled with friends, yet she dared not look up tomeasure its capacity, but guarded her eyes with the strictest custody.The organ was playing an appropriate march which she tried to follow inher mind in order that she might thereby absorb the greater part of herattention. Stephen was with her, for she could feel him, although shewas quite certain that she never laid an eye on him during the wholetime. Her people were there, so were her many friends and acquaintances,and Stephen's relatives and friends as well, but these, too, were absentas far as her concentration of mind was concerned. Only one thought wasuppermost in her mind and that was to leave the church as soon aspossible, for she felt that every eye was focused upon her.
It had been intended that the affair should be charmingly simple, bothon account of the sad and melancholy days through which the country waspassing and the natural tendencies of the parties concerned to avoid allsemblance of display. Their names had been published at three publicmasses; the Catholic Church required that. They had been married byFather Farmer with a nuptial high mass. The wedding breakfast would beserved at the home of the bride. But the number of invited guests wouldbe limited strictly to the members of the family and one or two intimatefriends so as to include Jim Cadwalader and Sergeant Griffin.Furthermore there would be no honeymoon on account of the uncertaintywhich invariably had defined the duration of Stephen's stay in the city.
It was only when the little party, Marjorie and Stephen's sister, hermaid of honor, and Stephen and Sergeant Griffin, his best man, hadsettled down into the coach, that Marjorie for the first time becamecomposed. A great sigh of relief escaped from her as she sat back, herbouquet in her hand, and looked at the dispersing crowd. She could nottell yet whether she was happy or not; the excitement had not subsidedenough to allow her to regain her self-possession and equanimity.Stephen was by her side. That was about all she knew,--or cared.
Stephen was in his characteristically reticent mood. Already had heobserved that he would have endured another Valley Forge with greaterpleasure than the ordeal of a wedding ceremony. Still he was nicelydressed for the occasion, wearing for the first time a new full dressuniform of buff and blue. The interested spectator might have discerned,too, that he wore for the first time a new insignia of rank; for he wasnow a Major of the Continental Army, having received that promotion,upon the recommendation of His Excellency, for distinguished service,together with a warm message of congratulation upon his approachingmarriage. Nevertheless he was unmoved through it all, betraying but oneconcern, and that was administration to the most trivial wants of hisblushing and timid bride.
It was the time of joy, of pure, unalloyed joy, yet he could not banishaltogether from his mind the memories of the past two years, yearscrowded with events in his life and that of his beloved. There was,indeed, much to be thankful for, and notwithstanding his exceedinglygreat glee and the day of gladness which had dawned for him flooding hisheart with exultation and complacent satisfaction, still a prayer ofpraise poured forth from his lips to the Giver of every best and perfectgift.
The American Revolution had unfolded a wonderful story, a story ofanti-Catholicism, of persecution and prejudice which had resolved itselfstep by step into a state of complete freedom of action and religiousliberty. The Church was at length free, free to gather her children intocongregations where she might speak to them and instruct them withoutany fear. Now she was at liberty to fulfill her mission of winning soulsto Christ. True, her children were widely scattered, a bare twenty-fivethousand out of a population of about three millions, whose wants wereadministered to by no more than twenty-five priests. Yet out of thiscontemptible little body there emerged a people, honorable, respectable,and of such consequence as to deserve commendation from the FirstPresident for "the patriotic part which you took in the accomplishmentof their Revolution and the establishment of your government," as wellas causing to be inserted in the Constitution of the new republic theclause that "no religious test shall ever be required as a qualificationfor any office or public trust under the United States." There was ofcourse much to be desired; but the foundations had been laid, and theprospect for the future was auspicious.
And so they rode through the city streets joyfully, merrily,light-heartedly. Conversation, interspersed with laughter andjocularity, literally ran riot, so impatiently did each attempt torelate what was uppermost in his or her mind. The ceremony, the music,the procession, the multitude obtained their due amount of comment,until the arrival of the coach at the door of the Allison home put anend to the session.
II
"A health, ladies and gentlemen, to the bride. May she live long andnever form the acquaintanceship of sorrow!"
Stephen's father had arisen from his chair and with his goblet heldbefore him addressed the company.
It was drunk with evident pleasure. Then Mr. Allison arose.
"To Major Meagher, that his brilliant career be only the commencement ofa life of extraordinary achievement!"
This was followed by a round of applause. Stephen smiled and bowed hishead, but it was plain to be seen that his father's chest had expandedmore than an appreciable trifle. Marjorie was happy and whispered a wordto her newly formed sister-in-law who was seated by her side. It was ajolly group who had surrounded the table, all bent on doing honor to thehappy couple, but none appeared more so than Jim Cadwalader and hiswife, Nancy.
"I tell you," said Jim, "they're a right fine pair."
"I am afraid, Jim, you have not forgiven me quite for excluding youfrom that meeting," Stephen suggested.
"I'm the proud'st man this side o' the river t' think I gave y' meclothes. Y'd never got on widout me."
There was an outburst of laughter.
"You would have been captured, had you gone in there. I saved you."
"Yes, an' the girl, there, did it. Don't ye furgit that, either. I'lltell on y'," replied Jim, nodding his head emphatically. "She got mecaught."
"Jim!" Marjorie exclaimed loudly.
"Now do not lay the blame on her," Stephen cautioned with a smile. "Youyourself were only too anxious to get there. You wanted to see yourselfin a new uniform."
"I did, then. I was terr'bly anxious t' see meself in a red suit, wasn'tI?"
The company enjoyed this exchange of repartee and laughed continually.Jim ever enjoyed the distinction of being tormented by the members ofwhatever gathering he was in, yet it was never known when he waspowerless of providing for himself.
And so they talked far into the morning. They sat in groups of twos andthrees, long after the table had been cleared, while the willinghelpers, the good neighbors, plied themselves industriously out in thekitchen with the cleaning of the dishes and the restoration of the houseagain to its proper order. Marjorie and her mother looked in through thedoorway from time to time at the progress of the work, only to bebanished as quickly by the cohort of willing toilers. For once in theirlives the girl and her fond mother mingled entirely with the guests andtook their full measure of enjoyment with the company.
As the guests departed one after the other, leaving behind them manybenedictions and choice wishes for the bride and groom, the housesettled down to its accustomed quietude and uniformity with theimmediate family, Jim and his wife alone remaining. Jim, like everyrecognized master in his own household, sat with his one leg across theother, enjoying his tobacco, while his less aristocratic helpmate tookcare that the kitchen affairs were given their due amount of attention.With abatement of the excitement and commotion the members of the familybetook themselves upon various journeys, the father to look at his fireso as to give it, if needed, a few generous pokes; the mother, to thekitchen to add a touch here and there to the arrangement of itsutensils; Marjorie to her room in order that she might once more robeherself in her plainer and more habitual apparel. The festivities wereat an end and the practical things of life again asserted their sternreality.
III
At length Stephen and Marjorie were alone, alone in their own littleworld of fancies and dreams. They were standing by the upstairs windowlooking out at the little fence where they had stood together more thantwo years before on the afternoon of his arrest. Stephen recalled hisimpressions of her then, yet she was more beautiful now, he thought. Shehad changed her gown of white for one of pink, and as she stood there,her lips a little parted in a tiny smile, her soft cheeks heightened incolor, her bright eyes looking out into the memories of the past, sheseemed for all the world to Stephen like an enchanted being.
"What are you thinking of, girlie?" he asked as he stood behind her, hisarm about her waist.
There was no response.
"Tell me, won't you?" he pleaded.
She continued to gaze into the roadway.
"Aren't you happy?"
"Oh! Yes.... Yes.... I was never so happy. I ... I...."
"What is it? Please, tell me. I fear that you are disturbed oversomething."
She did not answer but turned and seized the lapels of his coat withboth her hands. Then she raised her face to his and looked straight intohis eyes.
"I was thinking how much I have really cared for you without everknowing it."
"Is that all?" he laughed, as he folded his arms about her.
"And how unkind I have been to you all the while."
"There! There! You must not say that again. Promise me you will not somuch as think it."
Again there was silence, but only for a moment.
"But I must have hurt you often. And to think that I never realized it."
"You are happy now, aren't you?"
She looked up again with only love in her eyes.
"Stephen!" she whispered.
She was lost in his embrace and felt only his breath against her cheek.
The world lived in them.
THE END
_Printed in U. S. A_.
The Loyalist Page 27