STORY THREE, CHAPTER SEVEN.
MAY'S MARRIAGE.
The wedding day, and for once in a way a crisp, bright, hearty, frostytime--cold but inspiriting; and at ten o'clock, pale and trembling, butnerved for her trial, May Richards stood suffering Keziah to give thefinishing touches to her dress before starting for the church. Therewas to be no form; May had stipulated for that. The wedding was to beat an old City church hard by, and in place of meeting her there TomBrough had arrived, and was in the dining-room talking to old Richardsbound to an easy-chair with gout, and too ill to think of going to thechurch.
As May entered at last, led in by Keziah, defiant and snorting, TomBrough, active as a young man, hurried to meet the trembling girl,caught her in his arms, and kissed her fondly, heedless of the sigh shegave.
"Don't look like that, my darling," he whispered. "I'm going to makeyou happy as the day is long."
May's only reply was a look so full of misery and despair, that Keziahput her apron to her eyes and ran out of the room.
For a moment there was a shade as of uneasiness crossed old Richards'face--it might have been a twinge of gout--but it passed on the instant.
"Don't look like that, May!" he exclaimed angrily. "If you don't knowwhat is for your good you must be taught. Now, Brough, time's going--get it over, man. She'll be happier as soon as you have her away."
"Yes, yes," said Tom Brough tenderly. "Come May, my child, have you notone look for me?"
May placed her hands in his, and looked up in his face with the faintestdawning of a smile upon her lip, and this time she did not shrink backwhen he kissed her forehead, but hung upon his arm as if resigned to herfate; the sound of wheels was heard in the narrow street; the friendsready to accompany them were summoned from the room below--two oldfriends of Mr Brough's, for old Richards had, as he often boasted, nofriends; May was led out, the door was heard to close, wheels rattledaway, and then, for a wonder, there fell a dead silence upon Walbrook,one which seemed to affect old Richards, even as he sat there lookinghaggard and drawn of feature, thinking of the past, and of the day hewed his own wife long before gold had become his care--almost his god.For the first time remorse had seized upon him, and it wanted not thewords of Keziah Bay, who now entered the room, for reproach to be heapedupon his head.
But Keziah's words were not fierce now, only the words of sorrow; and atlast she sank down sobbing before him, and said:
"O, Master Richards--Master Richards--what have you done?"
He did not turn round fiercely to bid her begone, but shrank from her,farther and farther, into his great roomy chair, and at that moment,could he have done so, he would have arrested the farther progress ofthe ceremony, for remorse was beating strongly at his heart.
But the time was passed now, and with him action was impossible. He satthere motionless, listening to the sobs of his old servant till nearlyan hour had passed, when suddenly Keziah rose, wiping her eyes, andsaying,--
"I hadn't the heart to go and see it, and now it is too late!"
"Yes, yes," said old Richards softly; "it is now too late!"
The next moment Keziah was hurrying from the room, for there was thesound of wheels and a heavy knocking at the door, which she opened toadmit old Tom Brough, red and excited, and his first act upon the doorbeing closed was to catch Keziah round the waist, to hug her and giveher a sounding kiss before waltzing her down the passage, she strugglingthe while till she got free, and stood panting, trembling, and boilingover with ire.
"It's all right, 'Ziah!" he exclaimed, "the knot's tied."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, that you ought," panted Keziah,darting away to avoid another embrace. "And pray where's Miss May?"
Tom Brough did not answer, he only hurried into the drawing-room, whereold Richards sat upright, holding on by the arms of his chair.
"Where's May?" he gasped, looking ashy pale; "why have you not broughther back?"
"Because she was not mine to bring," said Tom Brough coolly. "FlunkMarr waylaid me, and he's carried her off and married her."
"Brough! this is a plot, and you are in it," exclaimed old Richardsfiercely, as he saw the serio-comic smile upon his friend's countenance.
"Well, yes, I had a little to do with it," Brough said quietly.
"And is dear Miss May really married to Mr Frank?" cried Keziah.
"Silence, woman," roared old Richards. "Brough, I'll never forgive you.You've planned all this with that beggar, and he's swindled me out of athousand pounds, and robbed me of my child! A rascally, lying beggar."
"Gently, gently, my dear Richards," said Tom Brough, coolly. "I don'tthink that now I have taken him into partnership he is quite the beggaryou imagine. What with that and your thousand, and what we--_we_,friend Richards--will leave them when we die, I don't think there willbe many men hold up their heads much higher in the City than Frank Marr.On the whole, I think your child has done well."
"Brough, Brough," exclaimed old Richards excitedly, "what does this allmean? In God's name tell me, or I shall have a fit."
"In God's name," said Tom Brough, slowly and reverently, "it means thatI, blessed as I have been with wealth, could not commit the grievous sinyou wished against that sweet child I loved her too well to condemn herto such a fate, and Frank Marr found me more open to appeal than he didhis father-in-law. I told him to come again to your office when he hadbeen to me, and at my wish he accepted all your terms, though notwithout a deal of forcing on my part. He's a fine, noble-hearted youngfellow, Richards, and listening to me I tried to make matters work forthe good of us all."
He looked at old Richards as he spoke, but the old man was scowling atthe wall.
"Would you have murdered your child, Richards?" said Tom Brough. "Itell you, man, that had your will been law the poor girl would not havelived a year, while now, with the husband she loves, she is waiting toask your forgiveness for that for which I am solely to blame."
"Keziah," said Mr Brough softly, after a pause, and he whispered a fewwords in her ear--words whose effect was to send her from the room, butonly to return in ten minutes, followed by Frank Marr, leading in histrembling wife.
STORY THREE, CHAPTER EIGHT.
CAN'T IT BE TO-MORROW?
There will doubtless be those ready to say that such things do nothappen in real life--that rich men do not take poor men intopartnership, nor yet give up handsome young wives on their wedding morn;but in spite of all that cynics may declare, there are men with heartsso large still to be found in this business-like world of ours--men whoare ready to do any good to benefit another. And there are times whenpeople do perform very eccentric acts, in proof of which must be relatedwhat took place in Walbrook that same evening, at a time when there wasa merry party in the drawing-room, and old Richards' face wore anexpression that it had not worn for years. There came a ring at thedoor bell--a sneaking under-handed sort of ring; and on Keziah openingthe door--behold Peter Pash!
"May I come in?" he said, modestly.
"Come in? yes, man," cried Keziah, catching him by the coat, and givinghim a snatch so that he was pulled into the passage, and the door bangedbehind him.
The next moment, to Peter's utter astonishment--for he was ignorant ofthe morning's changes--Keziah's arms were round his neck.
"Peter dear, can't it be to-morrow?"
"What! will you have me, then?" cried the little man in ecstasies, andthe next moment there was the sound of such a kiss heard in that passagethat it rolled along, vibrating from floorcloth to ceiling, and actuallyechoed; not that one would have recorded the fact, only this was such atremendously big kiss, and one that echoes is really worthy of mention.
_It_ could not "be to-morrow," but it happened very soon after, and TomBrough gave away the bride, while, talk about illuminations, PeterPash's house was a sight that drew together twelve small boys and an oldwoman, who stayed till the last dip went out and smelt unpleasant in thebest room window; but it is not every man that can have an i
lluminationat his own expense and of his own manufacture.
The gout proved too much for old Richards before another twelvemonthspassed; but every one said that during the last year of his life he wasanother man.
The End.
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