Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 33

"Nothing but death," was the reply.

A shade of sadness pa.s.sed momentarily over the girl's features as she asked, "Must it all end with that?"

"Death ends everything," replied the young man: "that is to say, everything earthly."

"Then is there _no_ love beyond the grave?" asked Helen.

"Oh! let us hope so," responded our artist. "I, for one, have the very strongest persuasion that there is. Love such as ours is not merely of earth."

"Dear, _dear_ Van!" cried the maiden, in ecstasy, "I will believe all you tell me. _I_ know nothing, but I _feel_ you are right. Yes, we shall still continue to love even beyond the grave. Oh! Van, how have I deserved all this happiness?"

"Your sweetness, your goodness, your beauty, your love, amply counterpoise anything _I_ can give you, my angel," said her lover.

"How kind you are to talk like that Van! How you _must_ love me to go against the wishes of your friends and leave everything and everybody for me!" exclaimed the girl. Then added, "You are _quite_ sure that you won't be ashamed of me before all the grand people you will meet? That you will be able to pardon any little slip of the tongue, my country manners, and everything else?"

"Everything, everything, dear. Besides, your education will begin from to-day. You will improve yourself in the arts of reading and writing.

Learn grammar, history, geography, and other things. I will have you well taught at once, whilst I am away in town to make preparations for our wedding. I must go about the licence, and through other formalities; buy the wedding-ring; your dress--for, of course, as _my_ wife, you must now dress as beseems a lady, and leave off this simple garb; and yet it seems a pity, for I have always known you thus. Still, for the sake of public opinion--to avoid misunderstanding----"

"I care nothing about all that," broke in Helen.

"No, my darling; not yet. You do not understand. But in time you will find that you have to."

"Well, I will do anything to please you, Van."

"My own darling!" said her lover, encircling his arm around her waist.

Well, my readers, and if their lips _did_ meet; what of it? It is a way that lips have under the circ.u.mstances.

"And now, gentlemen, and members of the Wonder Club, let me introduce you to the future Mrs. Vand.y.k.e McGuilp," said our artist, on his return from his walk, as he entered the club room, leading his fiancee by the hand.

Taken completely by surprise, each member rose from his chair, bowed, smiled, and offered his congratulations. Mr. Oldstone was particularly moist on this occasion.

"Oh! my dear boy, how I congratulate you; and you too, my pretty child!

Bless you, my children, both!"

Then he took out his handkerchief and mopped his eyes.

"Dear me, what an old fool I am!" he muttered, in parenthesis.

Chairs were immediately placed for the engaged couple, amid boisterous cheering and banter from all the members of the club at once, whilst the bride elect laughed, blushed, and looked very happy. The father and mother of the bride next entered, and joined in the general hubbub.

Of course, this was too great an event not to be celebrated with all due honours. Therefore Mr. Oldstone proposed that they should all meet once again that evening round the steaming punch-bowl; Helen and her parents being also of the company.

"Just to drink to the health of the bride elect," explained Mr. Oldstone with an appealing look towards Dr. Bleedem. And it was so.

That the bride's health was drunk that evening with a "Hip, hip, hurrah!" goes without saying. How Mr. McGuilp started on the morrow for town on business connected with his approaching marriage; his return; his sojourn at the "Headless Lady" until the grand event came off; how he occupied his spare time partly in painting a portrait of his friend Mr. Oldstone, which was followed in due time by portraits of his future father and mother-in-law, and in imparting instruction to his fair bride; likewise, how, when unavoidably absent on business, Mr. Oldstone would enact the role of instructor to the fair bride of his protege, so that no time should be lost in fitting her for her exalted station; how Helen improved daily in intelligence and knowledge under such careful tuition, are matters of history.

All unpleasant experiences of the past had been forgotten in the joy attending the great approaching event.

Coffins had been made for the bodies of the two malefactors. The corpse of Lord Scampford had been placed in his lordship's carriage and driven by his coachman (whose shoulder blade was now quite well), and accompanied by his footman to London, where it was consigned to the family vault of the Scampfords, while that of his partner in crime filled a nameless grave in a corner of the old churchyard at Littleboro'.

Some procrastination and unexpected delays _would_ occur, however, in spite of all our hero could do to hurry on the event, for we know that "the course of true love never _did_ run smooth," but at length the happy day arrived. How merrily pealed the bells from the ruined tower of the picturesque old parish church of Littleboro' on that sunny morn!

How gay the peasantry looked in their holiday attire! Proud, indeed, were our host and hostess as a splendid equipage with coachman and footman, each adorned with a huge nosegay, drove up to the door of the "Headless Lady" to convey the fair bride, who was attired in the most approved fashion of the period, and accompanied by her father and mother, both clad in gala, to the church.

How the yokels did gape as they recognised in the magnificently attired bride poor Nell Hearty, maid of the inn at the cross roads, whom they had seen full oft to feed the pigs, milk the cows, scrub the steps, wash and hang out the clothes, and who had served them with many a pint of her father's home brewed ale. It was a thing not well understood--had no right to be, doubtless they thought. The little church was crammed.

Needless to say that every member of the Wonder Club was present, and, lo, here comes the vicar of Littleboro', that aged and somewhat infirm cleric of benevolent aspect, and all the aristocracy of the place.

The service begins. Mr. Parna.s.sus has been chosen as best man, and has composed an ode for the occasion. Mr. Oldstone has begged the honour of giving away the bride, which duty he performs with great dignity. A dead silence reigns as the bridegroom places the ring on the chubby finger of his bride. The benediction is given, the register is signed, _et c'est une affaire fini_. The bridal pair march out of church to the joyous strains of the organ, treading beneath their feet along the aisle the flowers that friendly rustics have strewn across their path. Bride and bridegroom then step into their carriage and drive back to the house of the bride, where a sumptuous wedding breakfast awaits them. Nor were the wedding presents wanting. The members of the club had subscribed, and presented the pair with a handsome punch-bowl and silver ladle with the usual golden guinea inlaid in the scoop. The parents of the bride presented their daughter with a handsome piece of carved oak furniture called a "brideswain," dating back as far as the commonwealth, which contained linen, goblets, and other useful articles.

The old broadbacked farmer, the bride's G.o.dfather, who was present, and whom our readers will recollect was the innocent cause of the disasters that followed, in that, in his simplicity, he had put Lord Scampford's bully into possession of the secret of Helen's address, that day at the Royal Academy; well, the bride's G.o.dfather and his spouse between them presented the couple with a metal dish and cover, besides a case containing a carving knife, fork, and steel. The bride's aunt, whom we have mentioned as an invalid, sent an expensive old-fashioned china tea service and sundry chimney ornaments, while her friends in humbler circ.u.mstances each contributed their little mite.

The breakfast went off merrily. The speeches and the toasts, who shall describe?

At length the hour of parting arrived. The carriage drove up, and the bridal pair entered amid showers of rice and old slippers. Our hero and heroine were about to set out on a continental tour for their honeymoon, and intended visiting the eternal city.

Perhaps the most touching incident of all occurred at the last moment, just as the happy pair were entering their carriage.

Mr. Oldstone, who had been very moist on the occasion, drew off his antique ring, of which we have heard so much, from his forefinger and placed it on that of his protege, saying with much emotion: "Take it, my son; take it with an old man's blessing. Preserve it as an heirloom, for I shall never wear it more."

"Poor old man!" said our artist with some emotion, when they had left the home of the bride a mile behind. "To think that he should make _me_ this valuable present, and that I hadn't time to thank him at the last.

I must write to him on the very first opportunity. Why, Helen, can you guess the value of this gem? I would sooner possess this ring than all the money he has in the world. I never thought he would give it away to anyone during his lifetime. Did you ever hear the legend attached to it?"

"Well, yes; I think I _was_ present when Mr. Oldstone told his story,"

said Helen; "but I am sure I don't recollect anything about it now. You shall tell it to me over again some other time, darling."

"With pleasure, dearest," replied her husband. "It is a long story, and at present we have so many other things to think of, haven't we, love?"

"Yes, dear," was the reply.

"And you think you will continue to love me as much as you did at first, darling?" demanded the newly married man of his young wife.

"Oh! Van; how can you ask such a question?" exclaimed the bride. "Why, I love you more and more every minute."

"Then give hubby a pretty kiss," was the rejoinder.

Two pouting rosebuds were thrust upwards into the husband's face, upon which he settled like a bee upon a flower extracting nectar and ambrosia; and thus we will leave them.

L'ENVOI.

A universal gloom pervaded the precincts of the Wonder Club since the departure of the happy pair, which none felt more than Mr. Oldstone. Not but that he was delighted at the union of his protege with the landlord's pretty daughter, whom he begrudged to anyone short of a gentleman. That his dear Helen, whom he loved as his own child, should have had the good fortune to marry, not only a gentleman, but the very one that he himself would have singled out for her, was the realization of his happiest dreams. He knew they were happy, and revelled in the thought of their happiness. Still, they had gone out of his life and formed one of their own, apart. Her sunny smile would no more light up the dingy walls of the old hostel. He would hear no more the ring of her merry laugh, could no longer peer into her deep blue eyes, nor delight in her exquisitely white teeth, her rosy cheeks or coral lips; and added to this, his health that had for some time past been failing him, now thoroughly broke down, and he knew his end was not far off. So he penned a letter to his friend Rustcoin, who was still living in Rome, to come over to see him before he died, as he had much to say to him.