the law and the lady-第2章

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that　she　has　been　married　that　morning。　She　wears　a　gray　cashmere
tunic　trimmed　with　gray　silk；　and　having　a　skirt　of　the　same
material　and　color　beneath　it。　On　her　head　is　a　bonnet　to　match；
relieved　by　a　quilling　of　white　muslin　with　one　deep　red　rose；　as
a　morsel　of　positive　color；　to　complete　the　effect　of　the　whole
dress。

Have　I　succeeded　or　failed　in　describing　the　picture　of　myself
which　I　see　in　the　glass？　It　is　not　for　me　to　say。　I　have　done　my
best　to　keep　clear　of　the　two　vanitiesthe　vanity　of
depreciating　and　the　vanity　of　praising　my　own　personal
appearance。　For　the　rest；　well　written　or　badly　written；　thank
Heaven　it　is　done！

And　whom　do　I　see　in　the　glass　standing　by　my　side？

I　see　a　man　who　is　not　quite　so　tall　as　I　am；　and　who　has　the
misfortune　of　looking　older　than　his　years。　His　forehead　is
prematurely　bald。　His　big　chestnut…colored　beard　and　his　long
overhanging　mustache　are　prematurely　streaked　with　gray。　He　has
the　color　in　the　face　which　my　face　wants；　and　the　firmness　in
his　figure　which　my　figure　wants。　He　looks　at　me　with　the
tenderest　and　gentlest　eyes　（of　a　light　brown）　that　I　ever　saw　in
the　countenance　of　a　man。　His　smile　is　rare　and　sweet；　his
manner；　perfectly　quiet　and　retiring；　has　yet　a　latent
persuasiveness　in　it　which　is　（to　women）　irresistibly　winning。　He
just　halts　a　little　in　his　walk；　from　the　effect　of　an　injury
received　in　past　years；　when　he　was　a　soldier　serving　in　India；
and　he　carries　a　thick　bamboo　cane；　with　a　curious　crutch　handle
（an　old　favorite）；　to　help　himself　along　whenever　he　gets　on　his
feet；　in　doors　or　out。　With　this　one　little　drawback　（if　it　is　a
drawback）；　there　is　nothing　infirm　or　old　or　awkward　about　him；
his　slight　limp　when　he　walks　has　（perhaps　to　my　partial　eyes）　a
certain　quaint　grace　of　its　own；　which　is　pleasanter　to　see　than
the　unrestrained　activity　of　other　men。　And　last　and　best　of　all；
I　love　him！　I　love　him！　I　love　him！　And　there　is　an　end　of　my
portrait　of　my　husband　on　our　wedding…day。

The　glass　has　told　me　all　I　want　to　know。　We　leave　the　vestry　at
last。

The　sky；　cloudy　since　the　morning；　has　darkened　while　we　have
been　in　the　church；　and　the　rain　is　beginning　to　fall　heavily。
The　idlers　outside　stare　at　us　grimly　under　their　umbrellas　as　we
pass　through　their　ranks　and　hasten　into　our　carriage。　No
cheering；　no　sunshine；　no　flowers　strewn　in　our　path；　no　grand
breakfast；　no　genial　speeches；　no　bridesmaids；　no　fathers　or
mother's　blessing。　A　dreary　weddingthere　is　no　denying　itand
（if　Aunt　Starkweather　is　right）　a　bad　beginning　as　well！

A　_coup_　has　been　reserved　for　us　at　the　railway　station。　The
attentive　porter；　on　the　look…out　for　his　fee　pulls　down　the
blinds　over　the　side　windows　of　the　carriage；　and　shuts　out　all
prying　eyes　in　that　way。　After　what　seems　to　be　an　interminable
delay　the　train　starts。　My　husband　winds　his　arm　round　me。　〃At
last！〃　he　whispers；　with　love　in　his　eyes　that　no　words　can
utter；　and　presses　me　to　him　gently。　My　arm　steals　round　his
neck；　my　eyes　answer　his　eyes。　Our　lips　meet　in　the　first　long；
lingering　kiss　of　our　married　life。

Oh；　what　recollections　of　that　journey　rise　in　me　as　I　write！　Let
me　dry　my　eyes；　and　shut　up　my　paper　for　the　day。


CHAPTER　II。

THE　BRIDE'S　THOUGHTS。

　WE　had　been　traveling　for　a　little　more　than　an　hour　when　a
change　passed　insensibly　over　us　both。

Still　sitting　close　together；　with　my　hand　in　his；　with　my　head
on　his　shoulder；　little　by　little　we　fell　insensibly　into
silence。　Had　we　already　exhausted　the　narrow　yet　eloquent
vocabulary　of　love？　Or　had　we　determined　by　unexpressed　consent；
after　enjoying　the　luxury　of　passion　that　speaks；　to　try　the
deeper　and　finer　rapture　of　passion　that　thinks？　I　can　hardly
determine；　I　only　know　that　a　time　came　when；　under　some　strange
influence；　our　lips　were　closed　toward　each　other。　We　traveled
along；　each　of　us　absorbed　in　our　own　reverie。　Was　he　thinking
exclusively　of　meas　I　was　thinking　exclusively　of　him？　Before
the　journey's　end　I　had　my　doubts；　at　a　little　later　time　I　knew
for　certain　that　his　thoughts；　wandering　far　away　from　his　young
wife；　were　all　turned　inward　on　his　own　unhappy　self。

For　me　the　secret　pleasure　of　filling　my　mind　with　him；　while　I
felt　him　by　my　side；　was　a　luxury　in　itself。

I　pictured　in　my　thoughts　our　first　meeting　in　the　neighborhood
of　my　uncle's　house。

Our　famous　north…country　trout　stream　wound　its　flashing　and
foaming　way　through　a　ravine　in　the　rocky　moorland。　It　was　a
windy；　shadowy　evening。　A　heavily　clouded　sunset　lay　low　and　red
in　the　west。　A　solitary　angler　stood　casting　his　fly　at　a　turn　in
the　stream　where　the　backwater　lay　still　and　deep　under　an
overhanging　bank。　A　girl　（myself）　standing　on　the　bank；　invisible
to　the　fisherman　beneath；　waited　eagerly　to　see　the　trout　rise。

The　moment　came；　the　fish　took　the　fly。

Sometimes　on　the　little　level　strip　of　sand　at　the　foot　of　the
bank；　sometimes　（when　the　stream　turned　again）　in　the　shallower
water　rushing　over　its　rocky　bed；　the　angler　followed　the
captured　trout；　now　letting　the　line　run　out　and　now　winding　it
in　again；　in　the　difficult　and　delicate　process　of　〃playing〃　the
fish。　Along　the　bank　I　followed　to　watch　the　contest　of　skill　and
cunning　between　the　man　and　the　trout。　I　had　lived　long　enough
with　my　uncle　Starkweather　to　catch　some　of　his　enthusiasm　for
field　sports；　and　to　learn　something；　especially；　of　the　angler's
art。　Still　following　the　stranger；　with　my　eyes　intently　fixed　on
every　movement　of　his　rod　and　line；　and　with　not　so　much　as　a
chance　fragment　of　my　attention　to　spare　for　the　rough　path　along
which　I　was　walking；　I　stepped　by　chance　on　the　loose　overhanging
earth　at　the　edge　of　the　bank；　and　fell　into　the　stream　in　an
instant。

The　distance　was　trifling；　the　water　was　shallow；　the　bed　of　the
river　was　（fortunately　for　me）　of　sand。　Beyond　the　fright　and　the
wetting　I　had　nothing　to　complain　of。　In　a　few　moments　I　was　out
of　the　water　and　up　again；　very　much　ashamed　of　myself；　on　the
firm　ground。　Short　as　the　interval　was；　it　proved　long　enough　to
favor　the　escape　of　the　fish。　The　angler　had　heard　my　first
instinctive　cry　of　alarm；　had　turned；　and　had　thrown　aside　his
rod　to　help　me。　We　confronted　each　other　for　the　first　time；　I　on
the　bank　and　he　in　the　shallow　water　below。　Our　eyes　encountered；
and　I　verily　believe　our　hearts　encountered　at　the　same　moment。
This　I　know　for　certain；　we　forgot　our　breeding　as　lady　and
gentleman：　we　looked　at　each　other　in　barbarous　silence。

I　was　the　first　to　recover　myself。　What　did　I　say　to　him？

I　said　something　about　my　not　being　hurt；　and　then　something
more；　urging　him　to　run　back　and　try　if　he　might　not　yet　recover
the　fish。

He　went　back　unwillingly。　He　returned　to　meof　course　without
the　fish。　Knowing　how　bitterly　disappointed　my　uncle　would　have
been　in　his　place；　I　apologized　very　earnestly。　In　my　eagerness
to　make　atonement；　I　even　offered　to　show　him　a　spot　where　he
might　try　again；　lower　down　the　stream。

He　would　not　hear　of　it；　he　entreated　me　to　go　home　and　change　my
wet　dress。　I　cared　nothing　for　the　wetting；　but　I　obeyed　him
without　knowing　why。

He　walked　with　me。　My　way　back　to　the　Vicarage　was　his　way　back
to　the　inn。　He　had　come　to　our　parts；　he　told　me；　for　the　quiet
and　retirement　as　much　as　for　the　fishing。　He　had　noticed　me　once
or　twice　from　the　window　of　his　room　at　the　inn。　He　asked　if　I
were　not　the　vicar's　daughter。

I　set　him　right。　I　told　him　that　the　vicar　had　married　my
mother's　sister；　and　that　the　two　had　been　father　and　mother　to
me　since　the　death　of　my　parents。　He　asked　if　he　might　venture　to
call　on　Doctor　Starkweather　the　next　day；　mentioning　the　name　of
a　friend　of　his；　with　whom　he　believed　the　vicar　to　be
acquainted。　I　invited　him　to　visit　us；　as　if　it　had　been　my
house；　I　was　spell…bound　under　his　eyes　and　under　his　voice。　I
had　fancied；　honestly　fancied；　myself　to　have　been　in　love　often
and　often　before　this　time。　Never　in　any　other　man's　company　had
I　felt　as　I　now　felt　in　the　presence　of　_this_　man。　Night　seemed
to　fall　suddenly　over　the　evening　landscape　when　he　left　me。　I
lea