“It is a positive fact, I do assure you. The marriage never went any further than the ceremony. The contract never went into effect. The bride swore that she was married to the man without her own knowledge or consent, and that she would never acknowledge him as her husband. Passing strange, but true as truth.”
Harcourt dropped into his chair again, overwhelmed with emotion.
“Well?” he exclaimed. “Well, what next? What became of her?”
“She managed to communicate with her friends, and they came—a middle-aged gentleman and lady—and they took her off the island. The party stopped here, though I didn’t know the least in the world who they were, or that the beautiful young woman was the bride, or that there was any trouble. It was long after they left here that I found out all about it.”
“How did you find out at last?” inquired Harcourt.
“Through things that happened. On the very afternoon the bride left the island with her friends one of the most terrible storms that ever visited these parts came up. That was why the party stopped here instead of going right on, as they meant to have done. Well, among other damage that the storm did, it carried away the boats and boathouses from the island, and left the people cut off from communication with the mainland and the rest of the world. But in a week or ten days after there comes a fine, fast-sailing yacht to the isle, and stays a few hours, and then sails away again. And we all here, knowing nothing about the real facts, thought the bride and groom had gone off on a cruise, probably to southern waters—coast of Florida, Gulf of Mexico, or the West Indies.”
“Go on,” said Harcourt eagerly.
“Well, after a while, I thought of those two poor negroes left there alone, without any means of communicating with the mainland and the rest of the world. So, on one mild day in Indian summer, I jest got Len Poole to take me in his big boat over to the island, to see after them poor niggers, who might be starving for aught I knew. People may think it was curiosity that took me, if they like, but it was not, sir, it was not. It was humanity, sir, humanity.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Harcourt, who was anxious for the remainder of the story.
“Well, sir, I went, and it was from them two honest niggers that I heard the facts about that quarrel and parting. Why, they told me from the time she entered the house, a newly married bride, in her wedding dress, to the time her aunt came and took her away, she never permitted him to cross the threshold of her door. No, sir! There was a vixen for you!”