OUR HONEYMOON.
WEDNESDAY—MAY 29, 18—.
"Now, my dear Fred—if I could only feel certain you were quite ashamed of yourself, you don't know how comfortable I should be? Call yourself a Christian, and going out murdering people!" I couldn't help saying as much: no, quite the reverse.
"But nobody's hurt," said Fred, laughing. "Besides, now we're the best friends in the world."
"Well, men are creatures, to be sure! To make friendship over bullets and gunpowder. And supposing you'd been killed? Now, just to satisfy me, just for a moment suppose that?"
Whereupon, in his odd way, he stared in my face; and said he thought the calamity would have mightily become me.
"And to have been made a widow for another person—and that person, one's own servant. But I have given Josephine warning"—
"Nonsense!" said Frederick, and I did stare. "Nonsense, my darling," he repeated in his tender way; but I was not to be persuaded.
"Why, the creature was bold enough before. But with the thought in her head that her master had been fighting a duel, and all about her, she'd be as conceited, the house wouldn't hold her. She goes: now, it's no use talking, of that I'm determined."
"And so because a foolish young man—not but what he's a very good fellow—will write letters to a silly girl"—
"Oh, never tell me! He'd never have sent letters and nosegays to such a person, if she hadn't encouraged him."
"Ha! that's how you women help one another! The man begins the injury, and the sister-woman finishes it. No, Lotty; you'll do nothing of the sort. You'll not part with Josephine; and, more than that, you'll see young Bliss to-day. Who'd have thought to fight the brother of"—
"The fisherwoman? Well, it's very odd; I must say it's odd: and if I do consent to see him, I know I shall only be laughed at."
"Do what's right, Lotty; and then you may laugh with the laughers."
Now there was such good sense in this, that what could I say? Why, I didn't know; so I just put my arm about his neck.
"Yes, my love, and you'll not crush poor Truepenny"—
"Now, don't ask me that, Fred; that is really too much."
"They'll both be here to-day; and, come, I'll strike a bargain with you, Lotty?"
"A bargain?" said I. "Why, what's the use, Fred, when you always get the best of it? Well, I'm in a foolish good temper, so what is it?"
"If you'll receive young Bliss"—
"But is it really true that Miss Bliss—the young lady with the artificial flies—is going to be married? Really true?"
"I've told you, I hear next week. That fine young fellow we saw at the church, he's the man. When their honeymoon is over, I intend to ask them, and young Bliss, too, to The Flitch."
"Well?" said I, a little relenting. "And now your bargain?"
"You'll see young Bliss and Truepenny—they'll be here to lunch—and we'll start for home, by the first stage to-day, directly afterwards. Is it a bargain?"
"It's two days earlier than we're looked for," said I.
"Very well, let us stop out the time here," cried Fred.
"Not another hour. No; now I shall never be fully happy till I'm at home. I do verily believe, I shall go upon my knees and kiss the door-step. So Josephine has but to bestir herself—I only hope she'll prove herself worthy of the confidence we place in her; but it's a risk, Fred; depend on it, 'tis a risk."
With this I ran away to my room, and made Josephine comfortable, telling her that I thought her a most imprudent, if not a very culpable young woman, to have nosegays and letters sent to her, and so to destroy the peace of families—for it was no use to tell me that she couldn't help the gentleman sending them, that I couldn't believe;—but nevertheless if, as I believed, she was truly sorry for her conduct, I wouldn't have the heart to throw her upon the wide, wide world; but would much rather prefer to take her home with us, and—if she continued to behave herself—to make her happy as the day was long. I said all this; but I was sorry, really hurt to observe, that the young woman listened to a good deal I said, like any stone. But then for gratitude, who's to expect it?
We soon had everything packed, and I returned to Fred. Was ever anything so provoking? Instead of Mr. Bliss and that Truepenny, came two letters of apology. Mr. Bliss had received a sudden call upon his attention that he must obey, but hoped to be allowed to see Fred and "his charming partner"—(and he'd thought nothing of making her a disconsolate widow!)—some day at The Flitch. As for Mr. Truepenny, he declared to Fred that "he had not the courage to meet his wife:" which I considered a very proper compliment to my spirit. I scarcely thought the man had as much remorse and proper feeling in him. And then he added—"P.S. I write this upon my knees, sending my contrition to your estimable partner; with an earnest prayer that, at some distant day, I may be permitted to approach her at her own fireside. Dinner is beyond my ambition as above my deserts: but, I trust, that after due time and penitence, I may hope to be called to the tea-table. May hope still lift up her azure eyes to muffins?"
"I really don't see anything to laugh at," said I to Fred, who was mightily amused as he read the letter. And to say the truth I was a little vexed. Because I had made my mind up to show Fred how forgivingly I could behave—and then to be disappointed of the opportunity was vexing.
However, we lunched alone; paid the bill; and—shall I ever forget how I jumped into the carriage? I seemed to have wings!—and away we trundled homewards—homewards!
Home.
I fairly cried with happiness when I crossed the threshold. When I dropt in my chair at my fireside, I felt like the happiest Queen upon her throne. How beautiful, too, everything looked! There seemed a bloom, a brightness upon everything in the house; whilst the garden was glowing, brimming with flowers; all of them nodding at me, as I thought, a welcome.
What a house-warming we've had! And I never can complain of the smallness of the house after such a party! A hundred and fifty, and still plenty of room for Roger de Coverley. Mamma danced with Truepenny who—the foolish fellow!—would go upon his knees on the hearth, and drink a glass of champagne in honour, as he said, of the household gods. We've had merriment enough almost for a life! I begin to be afraid of so much happiness—can it last?
May 1, Twenty-ninth return of Wedding Day.
Thankful, grateful, for all blessings! Happiness has continued; happiness the purest and best, for—as dear, dear Fred says—the happiness was ever home-made.