Witness to the Deed Part 4

"Certainly, Sir Mark," and the waiter hurried to the door, leaving Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold muttering, and in time to admit a charmingly dressed, fair-haired bridesmaid in palest blue, and wearing a handsome diamond locket at her throat, and a few bright pearls on her cheeks, living pearls, just escaped from her pretty, red-rimmed eyes.

"'Trencher sc.r.a.ping--shilling seeking--napkin carrying.' Ah, Edie, my darling--all ready?"

"Yes, uncle, dear; but, oh, you do look cross!"

She clung to his arm and put up her lips to kiss the old man, whose face softened at her touch.

"No, no, my dear, not cross; only worried and irritable. Hang it, Edie, my pet, it's a horrible wrench to lose her. No hope of that scoundrel Stratton breaking his neck, or repenting, or anything, is there?"

"Oh, uncle dear, don't. Myra is so happy. She does love him so."

"And her poor old father's n.o.body now."

"You don't think so, uncle," said the girl, smiling through her tears, as she rearranged the old officer's tie, and gave a dainty touch to the stephanotis in the b.u.t.tonhole of his blue frock coat. "And you know you want to see her happily married to the man she loves, and who loves her with all his heart."

"Heigho! I suppose so."

"And I've come down to ask if you'd like to see her. They're just putting the last finishing touches."

"So we may," cried Sir Mark eagerly. "Does she look nice?"

"Lovely, uncle; all but--"

The girl ceased speaking, and looked conscious.

"Eh? All but what?"

"You will see, uncle, directly. I will not say any more about it. She would have her own way."

"Here, I'll come at once."

"No, no, uncle dear; I'll go and fetch her down."

"And make a parade of her all through this confounded caravanserai of an hotel!" cried the old man testily. "I can't think why she persisted in having it away from home."

"Yes, you can, uncle dear," said the girl soothingly. "It was very, very natural. But do, do be gentle with her. She is so ready to burst into tears, and I want her to go off as happy as the day."

"Of course, Edie, my dear; of course. I'll bottle it all up, and then you and your old fool of an uncle can have a good cry together all to ourselves, eh? But I say, little one, no hitches this time in the anchorage."

"There very nearly was one, uncle."

"What!" roared the old man, flushing.

"But I set it right with a telegram."

"What--what was it? Stratton going to shuffle?"

"Oh, uncle, absurd! The bouquet for the bride had not come."

"Pooh! A woman can be married without a bouquet."

"No, no, uncle! But I sent off a message, and Mr Guest brought it himself."

"Then he has been again."

"Uncle! Why, he's Malcolm Stratton's best man."

"He's the worst man I know. I loathe him."

"You don't, uncle."

"Yes, I do, and I'm not blind. Do you suppose I want to be left to a desolate old age. Isn't it bad enough to lose Myra without--"

"Oh, uncle!" cried the girl, whose cheeks were crimson, "there isn't a moment to lose;" and she darted to the door, leaving the admiral chuckling.

"A wicked little pirate! How soon she showed the red flag aloft. Ah, well, it's nature--nature, and one mustn't be selfish. Not much chance.

I don't know what we're born for, unless it's to be slaves to other people."

He turned over his newspaper, and began running down the list of marriages.

"Here they are," he muttered, "all going the same way," and he stood musing sadly upon the question of the young women's quitting the old hives, till the door was opened again and Edie Perrin ushered in her cousin, tall, graceful, and with that indescribable look of love and happiness seen in a bride's eyes on her wedding morn.

"Here she is, uncle," cried Edie, who then uttered a sob, and rushed away with a rustling noise to hide the tears she could not restrain.

"My darling!" cried the old man huskily as he drew his child to his breast; "and am I to feel that it is quite right, and that you are happy?"

"Oh, so happy, father; so content at last--at last," she whispered as she clung to him lovingly. "Only there is one thing."

"Eh? What--what?" cried the admiral excitedly.

"Leaving home and you."

The old man drew a deep breath full of relief.

"Oh, pooh, pooh, nonsense, my pet," he cried, looking at her beautiful pensive face proudly; "don't mind that; I'm glad of it."

"Glad, father?"

"No, no, not to lose you, my darling, but for you to go away with the man you love and who loves you. I hate him for taking you, but he is a splendid fellow, Myra. What a sailor he would have made!"

"Yes, father."

"If they had not spoiled him by getting all that natural history stuff in his head. But I say, my darling," he continued as he held his child at arm's length, admiring her, but pushing up his hand.

"Yes, dear?"

"Isn't this a little too--too punctilious? Very lovely, dear; you look all that a man could wish for, but it's a wedding, my pet, and you--you do not quite look like a bride."