Love Eternal: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

MARRIAGE

In that atmosphere of perfect bliss Godfrey's cure was quick. For
bliss it was, save only that there was another bliss beyond to be
attained. Remember that this man, now approaching middle life, had
never drunk of the cup of what is known as love upon the earth.

Some might answer that such is the universal experience; that true,
complete love has no existence, except it be that love of God to which
a few at last attain, since in what we know as God completeness and
absolute unity can be found alone. Other loves all have their flaws,
with one exception perhaps, that of the love of the dead which fondly
we imagine to be unchangeable. For the rest passion, however exalted,
passes or at least becomes dull with years; the most cherished
children grow up, and in so doing, by the law of Nature, grow away;
friends are estranged and lost in their own lives.

Upon the earth there is no perfect love; it must be sought elsewhere,
since having the changeful shadows, we know there is a sky wherein
shines the sun that casts them.

Godfrey, as it chanced, omitting Isobel, had walked little even in
these sweet shadows. There were but three others for whom he had felt
devotion in all his days, Mrs. Parsons, his tutor, Monsieur Boiset,
and his friend, Arthur Thorburn, who was gone. Therefore to him Isobel
was everything. As a child he had adored her; as a woman she was his
desire, his faith and his worship.

If this were so with him, still more was it the case with Isobel, who
in truth cared for no other human being. Something in her nature
prevented her from contracting violent female friendships, and to all
men, except a few of ability, each of them old enough to be her
father, she was totally indifferent; indeed most of them repelled her.
On Godfrey, and Godfrey alone, from the first moment she saw him as a
child she had poured all the deep treasure of her heart. He was at
once her divinity and her other self, the segment that completed her
life's circle, without which it was nothing but a useless, broken
ring.

So much did this seem to her to be so, that notwithstanding her lack
of faith in matters beyond proof and knowledge, she never conceived of
this passion of hers as having had a beginning, or of being capable of
an end. This contradictory woman would argue against the possibility
of any future existence, yet she was quite certain that her love for
Godfrey /had/ a future existence, and indeed one that was endless.
When at length he put it to her that her attitude was most illogical,
since that which was dead and dissolved could not exist in any place
or shape, she thought for a while and replied quietly:

"Then I must be wrong."

"Wrong in what?" asked Godfrey.

"In supposing that we do not live after death. The continuance of our
love I /know/ to be beyond any doubt, and if it involves our
continuance as individual entities--well, then we continue, that is
all."

"We might continue as a single entity," he suggested.

"Perhaps," she answered, "and if so this would be better still, for it
must be impossible to lose one another while that remained alive,
comprising both."

Thus, and in these few words, although she never became altogether
orthodox, or took quite the same view of such mysteries as did
Godfrey, Isobel made her great recantation, for which probably there
would never have been any need had she been born in different
surroundings and found some other spiritual guide in youth than Mr.
Knight. As the cruelties and the narrow bitterness of the world had
bred unfaith in her, so did supreme love breed faith, if of an unusual
sort, since she learned that without the faith her love must die, and
the love she knew to be immortal. Therefore the existence of that
living love presupposed all the rest, and convinced her, which in one
of her obstinate nature nothing else could possibly have done, no, not
if she had seen a miracle. Also this love of hers was so profound and
beautiful that she felt its true origin and ultimate home must be
elsewhere than on the earth.

That was why she consented to be married in church, somewhat to
Godfrey's surprise.

In due course, having practically recovered his health, Godfrey
appeared before a Board in London which passed him as fit for service,
but gave him a month's leave. With this document he returned to Hawk's
Hall, and there showed it to Isobel.

"And when the month is up?" she asked, looking at him.

"Then I suppose I shall have to join my regiment, unless they send me
somewhere else."

"A month is a very short time," she went on, still looking at him and
turning a little pale.

"Yes, dear, but lots can happen in it, as we found out in France. For
instance," he added, with a little hesitation, "we can get married,
that is, if you wish."

"You know very well, Godfrey, that I have wished it for quite ten
years."

"And you know very well, Isobel, that I have wished it--well, ever
since I understood what marriage was. How about to-morrow?" he
exclaimed, after a pause.

She laughed, and shook her head.

"I believe, Godfrey, that some sort of license is necessary, and it is
past post time. Also it would look scarcely decent; all these people
would laugh at us. Also, as there is a good deal of property
concerned, I must make some arrangements."

"What arrangements?" he asked.

She laughed again. "That is my affair; you know I am a great supporter
of Woman's Rights."

"Oh! I see," he replied vaguely, "to keep it all free from the
husband's control, &c."

"Yes, Godfrey, that's it. What a business head you have. You should
join the shipping firm after the war."

Then they settled to be married on that day week, after which Isobel
suggested that he should take up his abode at the Abbey House, where
the clergyman, a bachelor, would be very glad to have him as a guest.
When Godfrey inquired why, she replied blandly because his room was
wanted for another patient, he being now cured, and that therefore he
had no right to stop there.

"Oh! I see. How selfish of me," said Godfrey, and went off to arrange
matters with the clergyman, a friendly and accommodating young man,
with the result that on this night once more he slept in the room he
had occupied as a boy. For her part Isobel telephoned, first to her
dressmaker, and secondly to the lawyer who was winding up her father's
estate, requesting these important persons to come to see her on the
morrow.

They came quickly, since Isobel was too valuable a client to be
neglected, arriving by the same train, with the result that the lawyer
was kept waiting an hour and a half by the dressmaker, a fact which he
remembered in his bill. When at last his turn came, Isobel did not
detain him long.

"I am going to be married," she said, "on the twenty-fourth to Major
Godfrey Knight of the Indian Cavalry. Will you kindly prepare two
documents, the first to be signed before my marriage, and the second,
a will, immediately after it, since otherwise it would be invalidated
by that change in my condition."

The lawyer stared at her, since so much legal knowledge was not common
among his lady clients, and asked for instructions as to what the
documents were to set out.

"They will be very simple," said Isobel. "The first, a marriage
settlement, will settle half my income free of my control upon my
future husband during our joint lives. The second, that is the will,
will leave to him all my property, real and personal."

"I must point out to you, Miss Blake," said the astonished lawyer,
"that these provisions are very unusual. Does Major Knight bring large
sums into settlement?"

"I don't think so," she answered. "His means are quite moderate, and
if they were not, it would never occur to him to do anything of the
sort, as he understands nothing about money. Also circumstanced as I
am, it does not matter in the least."

"Your late father would have taken a different view," sniffed the
lawyer.

"Possibly," replied Isobel, "for our views varied upon most points.
While he was alive I gave way to his, to my great loss and sorrow. Now
that he is dead I follow my own."

"Well, that is definite, Miss Blake, and of course your wishes must be
obeyed. But as regards this will, do not think me indelicate for
mentioning it, but there might be children."

"I don't think you at all indelicate. Why should I at over thirty
years of age? I have considered the point. If we are blessed with any
children, and I should predecease him, my future husband will make
such arrangements for their welfare as he considers wise and just. I
have every confidence in his judgment, and if he should happen to die
intestate, which I think very probable, they would inherit equally.
There is enough for any number of them."

"Unless he loses or spends it," groaned the lawyer.

"He is much more likely to save it from some mistaken sense of duty,
and to live entirely on what he has of his own," remarked Isobel. "If
so, it cannot be helped, and no doubt the poor will benefit. Now if
you thoroughly understand what I wish done, I think that is all. I
have to see the dressmaker again, so good-bye."

"Executors?" gasped the lawyer.

"Public Trustee," said Isobel, over her shoulder.

"They say that she is one of these Suffragette women, although she
keeps it dark. Well, I can believe it. Anyway, this officer is
tumbling into honey, and there's no fool like a woman in love," said
the lawyer to himself as he packed his bag of papers.

Isobel was quite right. The question of settlements never even
occurred to Godfrey. He was aware, however, that it is usual for a
bridegroom to make the bride a present, and going to London, walked
miserably up and down Bond Street looking into windows until he was
tired. At one moment he fixed his affections upon an old Queen Anne
porringer, which his natural taste told him to be quite beautiful; but
having learned from the dealer that it was meant for the mixing of
infant's pap, he retired abashed. Almost next door he saw in a
jeweller's window a necklace of small pearls priced at three hundred
pounds, and probably worth about half that amount. Having quite a
handsome balance at his back, he came to the conclusion that he could
afford this and, going in, bought it at once, oblivious of the fact
that Isobel already had ropes of pearls the size of marrowfat peas.
However, she was delighted with it, especially when she saw what it
had cost him, for he had never thought to cut the sale ticket from the
necklace. It was those pearls, and not the marrowfat peas, that Isobel
wore upon her wedding day. Save for the little ring with the two
turquoise hearts, these were her only ornament.

A question arose as to where the honeymoon, or so much as would remain
of one, was to be spent. Godfrey would have liked to go to Lucerne and
visit the Pasteur, but as this could not be managed in war time,
suggested London.

"Why London?" exclaimed Isobel.

"Only because most ladies like theatres, though I confess I hate them
myself."

"You silly man," she answered. "Do you suppose, when we can have only
a few days together, that I want to waste time in theatres?"

In the end it was settled that they would go to London for a night,
and then on to Cornwall, which they hoped fondly might be warm at that
time of year.

So at last, on the twenty-fourth day of December of that fateful year
1914, they were married in the Abbey Church. Isobel's uncle, the one
with whom she had stayed in Mexico, and who had retired now from the
Diplomatic Service, gave her away, and a young cousin of hers was the
sole bridesmaid, for the ceremony was of the sort called a "war
wedding." Her dress, however, was splendid of its kind, some rich
thing of flowing broidered silk with a veil of wondrous lace.

Either from accident or by design, in general effect it much resembled
that of the Plantagenet lady which once she had copied from the brass.
Perhaps, being dissatisfied with her former effort, she determined to
recap it on a more splendid scale, or perhaps it was a chance. At any
rate, the veil raised in two points from her head, fell down like that
of the nameless lady, while from her elbows long narrow sleeves hung
almost to the ground. Beautiful Isobel never was, but in this garb,
with happiness shining in her eyes, her tall, well-made form looked
imposing and even stately, an effect that was heightened by her
deliberate and dignified movements. The great church was crowded, for
the news of this wedding had spread far and wide, and its romantic
character attracted people both from the neighbouring villages and the
little town.

Set in the splendid surroundings of the old Abbey, through the painted
windows of which gleamed the winter sun, Godfrey in his glittering
Indian uniform and orders, and his bride in her quaint, rich dress,
made a striking pair at the altar rail. Indeed it is doubtful whether
since hundreds of years ago the old Crusader and his fair lady, whose
ashes were beneath their feet, stood where they stood for this same
purpose of marriage, clad in coat of mail and gleaming silk, a nobler-
looking couple had been wed in that ancient fane.

Oddly enough, with the strange inconsequence of the human mind,
especially in moments of suppressed excitement, it was of this
nameless lady and her lord that Godfrey kept thinking throughout the
service, once more wondering who they were and what was their story.
He remembered too how the graves of that unknown pair had been
connected with his fortunes and those of Isobel. Here it was that they
plighted the troth which now they were about to fulfil. Here it was
that he had bidden her farewell before he went to Switzerland. He
could see her now as she was then, tall and slender in her white robe,
and the red ray of sunshine gleaming like a splash of blood upon her
breast. He glanced at her by his side as she turned towards him, and
behold! there it shone again, splendid yet ominous.

He shivered a little at the sight of it--he knew not why--and was glad
when a dense black snow-cloud hid the face of the sun and killed it.

It was over at last, and they were man and wife.

"Do these words and vows and ceremonies make any difference to you?"
she whispered as they walked side by side down the church, the
observed of all observers. "They do not to me. I feel as though all
the rites in the world would be quite powerless and without meaning in
face of the fact of our eternal unity."

It was a queer little speech for her to make, with its thought and
balance; Godfrey often reflected afterwards, expressing as it did a
great truth so far as they were concerned, since no ceremonial,
however hallowed, could increase their existing oneness or take away
therefrom. At the moment, however, he scarcely understood it, and only
smiled in reply.

Then they went into the vestry and signed their names, and everything
was over. Here Godfrey's former trustee, General Cubitte, grown very
old now, but as bustling and emphatic as of yore, who signed the book
as one of the witnesses, buttonholed him. At some length he explained
how he had been to see an eminent swell at the War Office, a "dug-out"
who was an old friend of his, and impressed upon him his, Godfrey's,
extraordinary abilities as a soldier, pointing out that he ought at
once to be given command of a regiment, and how the eminent swell had
promised that he would see to it forthwith. Oh! if he had only known,
he would not have thanked him.

At last they started for the motor-car, which was to drive them in
pomp three hundred yards to the Hall. Some delay occurred. Another
motor-car at the church gate would not start, and had to be drawn out
of the way. Three or four of the nurses from the hospital and certain
local ladies surrounded Isobel, and burst into talk and
congratulations, thus separating her from Godfrey.

Overhearing complimentary remarks about himself, he drew back a little
from the porch into the church which had now emptied. As he stood
there someone tapped him on the shoulder. The touch disturbed him; it
was unpleasant to him and he turned impatiently to see from whom it
came. There in front of him, bundled up in a rusty black cloak of
which the hood covered the head, was a short fat woman. Her face was
hidden, but from the cavernous recesses of the hood two piercing black
eyes shone like to those of a tiger in its den. After all those years
Godfrey recognised them at once; indeed subconsciously he had known
who had touched him even before he turned. It was Madame Riennes.

"Ah!" she said, in her hateful, remembered voice, "so my little
Godfrey who has grown such a big Godfrey now--yes, big in every way,
had recognition of his dear Godmamma, did he? Oh! do not deny it; I
saw you jump with joy. Well, I knew what was happening--never mind how
I knew--and though I am so poor now, I travelled here to assist and
give my felicitations. Eleanor, too, she sends hers, though you guess
of what kind they are, for remember, as I told you long ago, speerits
are just as jealous as we women, because, you see, they were women
before they were speerits."

"Thank you," broke in Godfrey; "I am afraid I must be going."

"Oh! yes. You are in a great hurry, for now you have got the plum, my
Godfrey, have you not, and want to eat it? Well, I have a message for
you, suck it hard, for very, very soon you come to the stone, which
you know is sharp and cold with no taste, and must be thrown away. Oh!
something make me say this too; I know not what. Perhaps that stone
must be planted, not thrown away; yes, I think it must be planted, and
that it will grow into the most beautiful of plum trees in another
land."

She threw back her hood, showing her enormous forehead and flabby,
sunken face, which looked as though she had lived for years in a
cellar, and yet had about it an air of inspiration. "Yes," she went
on, "I see that tree white with blossom. I see it bending with the
golden fruit--thousands upon thousands of fruits. Oh! Godfrey, it is
the Tree of Life, and underneath it sit you and that lady who looks
like a queen, and whom you love so dear, and look into each other's
eyes for ever and for ever, because you see that tree immortal do not
grow upon the earth, my Godfrey."

The horrible old woman made him afraid, especially did her last words
make him afraid, because he who was experienced in such matters knew
that she had come with no intention of uttering them, that they had
burst from her lips in a sudden semi-trance such as overtakes her
sisterhood from time to time. He knew what that meant, that Death had
marked them, and that they were called elsewhere, he or Isobel, or
both.

"I must be going," he repeated.

"Yes, yes, you must be going--you who are going so far. The hungry
fish must go after the bait, must it not, and oh! the hook it does not
see. But, my leetle big Godfrey, one moment. Your loving old Godmamma,
she tumble on the evil day ever since that cursed old Pasteur"--here
her pale face twisted and her eyes grew wicked--"let loose the law-
dogs on me. I want money, my godson. Here is an address," and she
thrust a piece of paper upon him.

He threw it down and stamped on it. In his pocket was a leather case
full of bank-notes. He drew out a handful of them and held them to
her. She snatched them as a hungry hawk snatches meat, with a fierce
and curious swiftness.

Then at last he escaped, and in another minute, amidst the cheers of
the crowd, was driving away at the side of the stately Isobel.

At the Hall, where one of the wards had been cleared for the purpose,
there was a little informal reception, at which for a while Godfrey
found himself officiating alone, since Isobel had disappeared with
General Cubitte and the brother officer who had acted as his best man.
When at length they returned he asked her where she had been, rather
sharply perhaps, for his nerves were on edge.

"To see to some business with the lawyer," she answered.

"What business, dear?" he inquired. "I thought you settled all that
this morning?"

"It could not be settled this morning, Godfrey, because a will can
only be signed after marriage."

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "Give me a glass of champagne."

An hour later they were motoring to London alone, at last alone, and
to this pair Heaven opened its seventh door.

They dined in the private sitting-room of the suit which under the
inspiration of Isobel he had taken at a London hotel, and then after
the curious-eyed waiters had cleared the table, sat together in front
of the fire, hand in hand, but not talking very much. At length Isobel
rose and they embraced each other.

"I am going to bed now," she said; "but before you come, and perhaps
we forget about such matters, I want you to kneel down with me and say
a prayer."

He obeyed as a child might, though wondering, for somehow he had never
connected Isobel and Prayer in his mind. There they knelt in front of
the fire, as reverently as though it burned upon an altar, and Isobel
said her prayer aloud. It ran thus:

"O Unknown God Whom always I have sought and Whom now I think that I
have found, or am near to finding; O Power that sent me forth to taste
of Life and gather Knowledge, and Who at Thine own hour wilt call me
back again, hear the prayer of Isobel and of Godfrey her lover. This
is what they ask of Thee: that be their time together on the earth
long or short, it may endure for ever in the lives and lands beyond
the earth. They ask also that all their sins, known and unknown, great
or small, may be forgiven them, and that with Thy gifts they may do
good, and that if children come to them, they may be blessed in such
fashion as Thou seest well, and afterwards endure with them through
all the existences to be. O Giver of Life and Love Eternal, hear this,
the solemn marriage prayer of Godfrey and of Isobel."

Then she rose and with one long look, left him, seeming to his eyes no
more a woman, as ten thousand women are, but a very Fire of spiritual
love incarnate in a veil of flesh.

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