The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
And now, they were in the road; and now he had lifted her into an
automobile, had sprung in beside her, and--they were off, gliding swift,
and ever swifter, under the shadows of the trees.
And still neither spoke, nor looked at each other; only she leaned away
from him, against the cushions, while he kept his frowning eyes fixed
upon the road a-head; and ever the great car flew onward faster, and
faster; yet not so fast as the beating of her heart, wherein shame, and
anger, and fear, and--another feeling strove and fought for mastery.
But at last, finding him so silent, and impassive, she must needs steal
a look at him, beneath her lashes.
He wore no hat, and as she looked upon him,--with his yellow hair, his
length of limb, and his massive shoulders, he might have been some
fierce Viking, and she, his captive, taken by strength of arm--borne
away by force.--By force!
And, hereupon, as the car hummed over the smooth road, it seemed to find
a voice,--a subtle, mocking voice, very like the voice of the
brook,--that murmured to her over and over again:
"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed."
The very trees whispered it as they passed, and her heart throbbed in
time to it:
"By force ye shall be wooed, and by force ye shall be wed!" So, she
leaned as far from him as she might, watching him with frightened eyes
while he frowned ever upon the road in front, and the car rocked, and
swayed with their going, as they whirled onward through moonlight and
through shadow, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating of
her heart wherein was fear, and shame, and anger, and--another feeling,
but greatest of all now, was fear. Could this be the placid, soft-spoken
gentleman she had known,--this man, with the implacable eyes, and the
brutal jaw, who neither spoke to, nor looked at her, but frowned always
at the road in front.
And so, the fear grew and grew within her,--fear of the man whom she
knew,--and knew not at all. She clasped her hands nervously together,
watching him with dilating eyes as the car slowed down,--for the road
made a sudden turn, hereabouts.
And still he neither looked at, nor spoke to her; and therefore, because
she could bear the silence no longer, she spoke--in a voice that sounded
strangely faint, and far-away, and that shook and trembled in spite
of her.
"Where are you--taking me?"
"To be married!" he answered, never looking at her.
"You--wouldn't--dare!"
"Wait and see!" he nodded.
"Oh!--but what do--you mean?" The fear in her voice was more manifest
than ever.
"I mean that you are mine,--you always were, you always must and shall
be. So, I'm going to marry you--in about half-an-hour, by
special license."
Still he did not even glance towards her, and she looked away over the
country side all lonely and desolate under the moon.
"I want you, you see," he went on, "I want you more than I ever wanted
anything in this world. I need you, because without you my life will be
utterly purposeless, and empty. So I have taken you--because you are
mine, I know it,--Ah yes! and, deep down in your woman's heart, you know
it too. And so, I am going to marry you,--yes I am, unless--" and here,
he brought the car to a standstill, and turning, looked at her for the
first time.
And now, before the look in his eyes, her own wavered, and fell, lest he
should read within them that which she would fain hide from him,--and
which she knew they must reveal,--that which was neither shame, nor
anger, nor fear, but the other feeling for which she dared find no name.
And thus, for a long moment, there was silence.
At last she spoke, though with her eyes still hidden:
"Unless!" she repeated breathlessly.
"Anthea,--look at me!"
But Anthea only drooped her head the lower; wherefore, he leaned
forward, and--even as Small Porges had done,--set his hand beneath the
dimple in her chin, and lifted the proud, un-willing face:
"Anthea,--look at me!"
And now, what could Anthea do but obey?
"Unless," said he, as her glance, at last, met his, "unless you can tell
me--now, as your eyes look into mine,--that you love Cassilis. Tell me
that, and I will take you back, this very instant; and never trouble you
again. But, unless you do tell me that, why then--your Pride shall not
blast two lives, if I can help it. Now speak!"
But Anthea was silent, also, she would have turned aside from his
searching look, but that his arms were about her, strong, and
compelling. So, needs must she suffer him to look down into her very
heart, for it seemed to her that, in that moment, he had rent away every
stitch, and shred of Pride's enfolding mantle, and that he saw the
truth, at last.
But, if he had, he gave no sign, only he turned and set the car humming
upon its way, once more.
On they went through the midsummer night, up hill and down hill, by
cross-road and bye-lane, until, as they climbed a long ascent, they
beheld a tall figure standing upon the top of the hill, in the attitude
of one who waits; and who, spying them, immediately raised a very stiff
left arm, whereupon this figure was joined by another. Now as the car
drew nearer, Anthea, with a thrill of pleasure, recognized the Sergeant
standing very much as though he were on parade, and with honest-faced
Peterday beside him, who stumped joyfully forward, and,--with a bob of
his head, and a scrape of his wooden leg,--held out his hand to her.
Like one in a dream she took the sailor's hand to step from the car, and
like one in a dream, she walked on between the soldier and the sailor,
who now reached out to her, each, a hand equally big and equally gentle,
to aid her up certain crumbling, and time-worn steps. On they went
together until they were come to a place of whispering echoes, where
lights burned, few, and dim.
And here, still as one in a dream, she spoke those words which gave her
life, henceforth, into the keeping of him who stood beside her,--whose
strong hand trembled as he set upon her finger, that which is an emblem
of eternity.
Like one in a dream, she took the pen, and signed her name, obediently,
where they directed. And yet,--could this really be herself,--this
silent, submissive creature?
And now, they were out upon the moon-lit road again, seated in the car,
while Peterday, his hat in his hand, was speaking to her. And yet,--was
it to her?
"Mrs. Belloo, mam," he was saying, "on this here monumentous occasion--"
"Monumentous is the only word for it, Peterday!" nodded the Sergeant.
"On this here monumentous occasion, Mrs. Belloo," the sailor proceeded,
"my shipmate, Dick, and me, mam,--respectfully beg the favour of
saluting the bride;--Mrs. Belloo, by your leave--here's health, and
happiness, mam!" And, hereupon, the old sailor kissed her, right
heartily. Which done, he made way for the Sergeant who, after a moment's
hesitation, followed suit.
"A fair wind, and prosperous!" cried Peterday, flourishing his hat.
"And God--bless you--both!" said the Sergeant as the car shot away.
So, it was done!--the irrevocable step was taken! Her life and future
had passed for ever into the keeping of him who sat so silent beside
her, who neither spoke, nor looked at her, but frowned ever at the road
before him.
On sped the car, faster, and faster,--yet not so fast as the beating of
her heart wherein there was yet something of fear, and shame,--but
greatest of all was that other emotion, and the name of it was--Joy.
Now, presently, the car slowed down, and he spoke to her, though without
turning his head. And yet, something in his voice thrilled through her
strangely.
"Look Anthea,--the moon is at the full, to-night."
"Yes!" she answered.
"And Happiness shall come riding astride the full moon!" he quoted. "Old
Nannie is rather a wonderful old witch, after all, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"And then there is--our nephew,--my dear, little Porges! But for him,
Happiness would have been a stranger to me all my days, Anthea. He
dreamed that the Money Moon spoke to him, and--but he shall tell you of
that, for himself."
But Anthea noticed that he spoke without once looking at her; indeed it
seemed that he avoided glancing towards her, of set design, and purpose;
and his deep voice quivered, now and then, in a way she had never heard
before. Therefore, her heart throbbed the faster, and she kept her gaze
bent downward, and thus, chancing to see the shimmer of that which was
upon her finger, she blushed, and hid it in a fold of her gown.
"Anthea."
"Yes?"
"You have no regrets,--have you?"
"No," she whispered.
"We shall soon be--home, now!"
"Yes."
"And are you--mine--for ever, and always? Anthea, you--aren't--afraid of
me any more, are you?"
"No."
"Nor ever will be?"
"Nor--ever will be."
Now as the car swept round a bend, behold yet two other figures standing
beside the way.
"Yo ho, Captain!" cried a voice, "Oh--please heave to, Uncle Porges!"
And, forth to meet them, came Small Porges, running. Yet remembering
Miss Priscilla, tapping along behind him, he must needs turn back,--to
give her his hand like the kindly, small gentleman that he was.
And now--Miss Priscilla had Anthea in her arms, and they were kissing
each other, and murmuring over each other, as loving women will, while
Small Porges stared at the car, and all things pertaining thereto, more
especially, the glaring head-lights, with great wondering eyes.
At length, having seen Anthea, and Miss Priscilla safely stowed, he
clambered up beside Bellew, and gave him the word to proceed. What pen
could describe his ecstatic delight as he sat there, with one hand
hooked into the pocket of Uncle Porges' coat, and with the cool night
wind whistling through his curls. So great was it, indeed, that Bellew
was constrained to turn aside, and make a wide detour, purely for the
sake of the radiant joy in Small Porges' eager face.
When, at last, they came within sight of Dapplemere, and the great
machine crept up the rutted, grassy lane, Small Porges sighed,
and spoke:
"Auntie Anthea," said he, "are you sure that you are married--nice
an'--tight, you know?"
"Yes, dear," she answered, "why--yes, Georgy."
"But you don't look a bit diff'rent, you know,--either of you. Are you
quite--sure? 'cause I shouldn't like you to disappoint me,--after all."
"Never fear, my Porges," said Bellew, "I made quite sure of it while I
had the chance,--look!" As he spoke, he took Anthea's left hand,
drawing it out into the moonlight, so that Small Porges could see the
shining ring upon her finger.
"Oh!" said he, nodding his head, "then that makes it all right I s'pose.
An' you aren't angry with me 'cause I let a great, big gnome come an'
carry you off, are you, Auntie Anthea?"
"No, dear."
"Why then, everything's quite--magnif'cent, isn't it? An' now we're
going to live happy ever after, all of us, an' Uncle Porges is going to
take us to sail the oceans in his ship,--he's got a ship that all
belongs to his very own self, you know, Auntie Anthea,--so all will be
revelry an' joy--just like the fairy tale, after all."
And so, at last, they came to the door of the ancient House of
Dapplemere. Whereupon, very suddenly, Adam appeared, bare-armed from the
stables, who, looking from Bellew's radiant face to Miss Anthea's shy
eyes, threw back his head, vented his great laugh, and was immediately
solemn again.
"Miss Anthea," said he, wringing and twisting at his hat, "or--I think I
should say,--Mrs. Belloo mam,--there ain't no word for it! least-ways
not as I know on, nohow. No words be strong enough to tell the
J-O-Y--j'y, mam, as fills us--one an' all." Here, he waved his hand to
where stood the comely Prudence with the two rosy-cheeked maids peeping
over her buxom shoulders.
"Only," pursued Adam, "I be glad--ah! mortal glad, I be,--as 'tis you,
Mr. Belloo sir. There ain't a man in all the world,--or--as you might
say,--uni-verse, as is so proper as you to be the husband to our Miss
Anthea--as was,--not nohow, Mr. Belloo sir. I wish you j'y, a j'y as
shall grow wi' the years, an' abide wi' you always,--both on ye."
"That is a very excellent thought Adam!" said Bellew, "and I think I
should like to shake hands on it." Which they did, forthwith.
"An' now, Mrs. Belloo mam," Adam concluded, "wi' your kind permission,
I'll step into the kitchen, an' drink a glass o' Prue's ale--to your
'ealth, and 'appiness. If I stay here any longer I won't say but what I
shall burst out a-singing in your very face, mam, for I do be that
'appy-'earted,--Lord!"
With which exclamation, Adam laughed again, and turning about, strode
away to the kitchen with Prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids, laughing
as he went.
"Oh my dears!" said little Miss Priscilla, "I've hoped for this,--prayed
for it,--because I believe he is--worthy of you, Anthea, and because you
have both loved each other, from the very beginning; oh dear me; yes you
have! And so, my dears,--your happiness is my happiness and--Oh,
goodness me! here I stand talking sentimental nonsense while our Small
Porges is simply dropping asleep as he stands."
"'Fraid I am a bit tired," Small Porges admitted, "but it's been a
magnif'cent night. An' I think, Uncle Porges, when we sail away in your
ship, I think, I'd like to sail round the Horn first 'cause they say
it's always blowing, you know, and I should love to hear it blow. An'
now--Good-night!"
"Wait a minute, my Porges, just tell us what it was the Money Moon said
to you, last night, will you?"
"Well," said Small Porges, shaking his head, and smiling, a slow, sly
smile, "I don't s'pose we'd better talk about it, Uncle Porges, 'cause,
you see, it was such a very great secret; an 'sides,--I'm awful sleepy,
you know!" So saying, he nodded slumberously, kissed Anthea sleepily,
and, giving Miss Priscilla his hand, went drowsily into the house.
But, as for Bellew it seemed to him that this was the hour for which he
had lived all his life, and, though he spoke nothing of this thought,
yet Anthea knew it, instinctively,--as she knew why he had avoided
looking at her hitherto, and what had caused the tremor in his voice,
despite his iron self-control; and, therefore, now that they were alone,
she spoke hurriedly, and at random:
"What--did he--Georgy mean by--your ship?"
"Why, I promised to take him a cruise in the yacht--if you cared to
come, Anthea."
"Yacht!" she repeated, "are you so dreadfully rich?"
"I'm afraid we are," he nodded, "but, at least, it has the advantage of
being better than if we were--dreadfully poor, hasn't it?"
Now, in the midst of the garden there was an old sun-dial worn by time,
and weather, and it chanced that they came, and leaned there, side by
side. And, looking down upon the dial, Bellew saw certain characters
graven thereon in the form of a poesy.
"What does it say, here, Anthea?" he asked. But Anthea shook her head:
"That, you must read for yourself!" she said, not looking at him.
So, he took her hand in his, and, with her slender finger, spelled out
this motto.
Time, and youthe do flee awaie, Love, Oh! Love then, whiles ye may.
"Anthea!" said he, and again she heard the tremor in his voice, "you
have been my wife nearly three quarters of an hour, and all that time I
haven't dared to look at you, because if I had, I must have--kissed you,
and I meant to wait--until your own good time. But Anthea, you have
never yet told me that you--love me--Anthea?"
She did not speak, or move, indeed, she was so very still that he needs
must bend down to see her face. Then, all at once, her lashes were
lifted, her eyes looked up into his--deep and dark with passionate
tenderness.
"Aunt Priscilla--was quite--right," she said, speaking in her low,
thrilling voice, "I have loved you--from the--very beginning, I think!"
And, with a soft, murmurous sigh, she gave herself into his embrace.
Now, far away across the meadow, Adam was plodding his homeward way,
and, as he trudged, he sang to himself in a harsh, but not unmusical
voice, and the words of his song were these:
"When I am dead, diddle diddle, as well may hap
You'll bury me, diddle diddle, under the tap,
Under the tap, diddle diddle, I'll tell you why,
That I may drink, diddle diddle, when I am dry."
THE END