A WICKED WEDDING.
Bid me to leap
From off the battlements of yonder tower
And I will do it.
—Shakespeare.
"Now tell me what you wish me to do, and why you wish me to do it," said the lover, submissively.
"I have already told you what I wish you to do. Why I wish you to do it must remain my secret for the present. You must trust me. Oh, Craven," she added, suddenly changing her tone to one of soft, sorrowful pleading, "why will you not trust me, when I am about to trust you with the happiness of my whole future life?"
"I do trust you! I trust you, as I love you, without limit!" answered the poor fellow, almost weeping.
"Ah, you say you do, yet you refuse to do as I wish you," sorrowfully replied the siren.
"I refuse no longer! I will do anything in the world you wish me to do with joy, if in that way I can have you for my own," he declared, with tearful emphasis.
"I knew you would. You are a dear, good, true heart, and I love you more than life!" she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Listen, now."
He became suddenly all devoted attention, as she artfully unfolded to him just as much of her nefarious plan as was absolutely necessary to secure his co-operation in it. The whole of her scheme in all its diabolical wickedness she dared not expose to his honest soul.
She told him now that she had set her mind on a harmless practical joke, to win a wager with Emma Cavendish.
She said that he must so with her to see the Rev. Mr. Borden, rector of St. —— Church, and ask him to perform the marriage ceremony between them, and that he must give his own name as Mr. Alden Lytton, attorney at law, Richmond, Virginia, and give her name as it was—Mrs. Mary Grey, of the same city. And that they must be married under those names.
The young man stared until his black eyes looked big as old Booth's in the last scene of "Richard."
"But why?" he inquired.
"A practical joke, I tell you. Ah, how hard you are to manage! Why can you not trust me through a little mystery like this—a little practical joke like this?"
"I do trust you; but I am afraid that it might seem like a practical forgery to be married under another person's name," he replied.
"Nonsense! Do you think that I could be such an idiot as to implicate you in any act that might be construed into forgery, practical or otherwise?" she inquired, with a light laugh.
"Oh, no, certainly you are not the lady to do that!" he admitted.
"Well, then, what next? You look as solemn as a judge or an owl!"
"I am afraid, also, that if I should be married under any other name than my own our marriage itself might turn out to be nothing more than a practical joke instead of a legal union."
"Mr. Kyte!" she suddenly exclaimed, with her eyes flashing fire. "You insult me! Am I the sort of woman that would compromise my good name in a marriage of doubtful legality?"
"Oh, no; certainly you would not! Nor did I mean that. I earnestly beg your pardon!" said Craven, penitently.
"You are a silly gander, and a dear, darling duck of a boy! And I love you! But you must understand that I know what I am about. And you must trust me—you must trust me; and, once for all, you must trust me!" she said, archly, giving his arm another squeeze.
"I do—I do! Come; shall we be going? I am on the rack till our wedding is over."
"Yes; but we must take a cab. The distance is a long one."
"There is a cab-stand a couple of blocks from here. I noticed it as I came along. We will take one there, if you please."
She assented, and they walked on to the stand and engaged a cab.
When they were seated in it Craven Kyte ordered the cabman to drive to the rectory of St. —— Church.
Half an hour's driving brought them to their destination.
When the cab drew up to the door of the house, Craven was about to alight, when Mary Grey stopped him.
"Wait," she said.
And taking from her card-case a pencil and a blank card, she wrote upon it the name:
"Mr. Alden Lytton."
"Send that in," she said, handing the card to the bewildered young man.
Craven Kyte took it, looked at it attentively, and then exclaimed:
"Why, that is exactly like Mr. Lytton's own handwriting! If I had not seen you write it I should have taken it to be his autograph."
"Should you? So much the better. But never mind that now. Go and do as I told you."
He alighted immediately and went up to the door of the house. He rang the bell, and sent in the card by the servant who answered it.
After the lapse of a few moments the servant came back with a very favorable message.
Craven Kyte returned to the cab and whispered:
"Mr. Borden is at home and will see us. Come."
And he assisted her to alight.
And they went into the rectory, and were shown by a servant into the study of the rector.
Mary Grey courtesied to the gray-haired, dignified clergyman, who arose to receive her; but she kept her veil down as she took her seat in the chair he placed for her.
Craven Kyte then drew the reverend gentleman aside and spoke to him in a low voice.
Mr. Borden nodded and nodded as the speaker proceeded.
When he had finished speaking, the rector inquired:
"Both of legal age?"
"Both of more than legal age, and both quite independent of others," answered Craven Kyte.
"I merely asked the question because in cases of this kind I prefer that the parties should be of legal age; though were they minors I should feel it to be my duty to marry them all the same, because, I think, when a youth and maiden run away with each other the best thing a Christian minister can do for them is to tie them together for life."
"I am a bachelor of twenty-two years of age, and my chosen wife is a widow of twenty-one. We take this simple method of getting married for economy and convenience, and for no other reason; for there is no one in the world who has either the power or the will to prevent us," said Craven Kyte.
"Very well, Mr. Lytton; I am ready to wait on you. I prefer, however, to solemnize marriage in the church, when possible. There must be witnesses also. And if you have none at hand the sexton and some members of his family can serve."
Craven Kyte winced at the prospect of all these formalities.
"I thought that in the Quaker City marriage was a matter of less form," he said.
"Yes, among the Quakers; but even they must have witnesses. If you and the lady will go into the church I will join you there in a few minutes. You will find the doors open and the sexton in the building, preparing for the usual Friday afternoon service," said the rector.
And Craven Kyte again offered his arm to his companion and led her out of the rectory and into the church.
It was evident from all signs that the interior had just been swept out.
And an old man and a young woman, whom Craven Kyte and his companion rightly guessed to be the sexton and the sexton's daughter, were busily engaged in dusting the pews.
Craven Kyte and Mary Grey sat down upon a front seat before the altar to wait until the rector should make his appearance.
Mr. Borden did not keep them long in suspense. He soon entered, dressed in his surplice, and took his place within the chancel.
The candidates for matrimony advanced and stood before him.
He beckoned the sexton and the sexton's daughter to draw near and stand as witnesses.
And they came up, dusting-brushes in hand, and stood staring while the ceremony was performed.
After the preliminary exhortation and prayers the important questions were put:
"Will you, Alden, take Mary to be your wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?" and so forth, and so forth, and so forth.
To which Craven Kyte, turning pale at his own unwilling duplicity in answering to a false name, replied:
"I will."
"Will you, Mary, take Alden to be your wedded husband?" and so forth, and so forth.
To which Mary Grey answered firmly:
"I will."
And the ring was placed upon her finger. And her marriage vows were solemnly repeated, the last prayer said, and the benediction pronounced.
It was all over.
"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
The newly-married pair were about to turn from the altar, when the rector said:
"Come with me into the vestry for a moment."
And they followed him into the vestry, attended by the two witnesses.
The rector made an entry into a large book, and then called upon the bridegroom and the bride to sign their names.
Again Craven Kyte turned pale as death as he registered the false name under which he had been married.
But his companion wrote her name in firm and steady characters.
Then the sexton and his daughter signed as witnesses.
The rector filled out a blank form, which he also signed and caused to be signed by the two witnesses.
This he put into an envelope and handed to the bride.
Then he bowed to both, as a signal that all the forms had been complied with, and they were at liberty to depart.
"What was that paper the minister gave you, my dearest love?" whispered Craven, as they left the church.
"It was the certificate of marriage which the minister usually—and very properly—gives to the newly-married woman," answered the bride.
"Oh, quite right, my angel!" replied the doomed bridegroom, as he tenderly put her into the cab and took his seat beside her.
And then he clasped her to his honest heart in an ecstasy of love and went off into the most extravagant rhapsodies about his happiness.