Arthur explained his views, which apparently included settling all his property on his bride in the most absolute fashion possible. To this Mr. Borley forcibly objected, and in the end Arthur had to give way and make such arrangements as the old gentleman thought proper— arrangements differing considerably from those proposed by himself.
This interview over, he had other and pleasanter duties to perform, such as ordering his wedding clothes, making arrangements with a florist for the bridal bouquet, and last, but not least, having his mother’s diamonds re-set as a present for his bride.
But still the days went very slowly, there seemed to be no end to them. He had no relations to go and see, and in his present anxious excited state he preferred to avoid his friends and club acquaintances. Fifth, sixth, seventh; never did a schoolboy await the coming of the day that marked the advent of his holidays with such intense anxiety.
At length the eighth of June arrived. Months before, he had settled what his programme should be on that day. His promise, as the reader may remember, forbade him to see Angela till the ninth, that is, at any hour after twelve on the night of the eighth, or, practically, as early as possible on the following morning. Now the earliest train would not get him down to Roxham till eleven o’clock, which would involve a wicked waste of four or five hours of daylight that might be spent with Angela, so he wisely resolved to start on the evening of the eighth, by a train leaving Paddington at six o’clock, and reaching Roxham at nine.
The day he spent in signing the settlements, finally interviewing the florist, and giving him directions as to forwarding the wedding- bouquet, which was to be composed of orange-blossoms, lilies of the valley, and stephanotis, and in getting the marriage-license. But, notwithstanding these manifold employments, he managed to be three- quarters of an hour before his train, the longest forty-five minutes he ever spent.
He had written to the proprietor of the inn at Rewtham, where he had slept a year ago the night after he had left Isleworth, to send a gig to meet him at the station, and, on arriving at Roxham, a porter told him that a trap was waiting for him. On emerging from the station, even in the darkness, he was able to recognize the outlines of the identical vehicle which had conveyed him to the Abbey House some thirteen months ago, whilst the sound of an ancient, quavering voice informed him that the Jehu was likewise the same. His luggage was soon bundled up behind, and the steady-going old nag departed into the darkness.
“Well, Sam, do you remember me?”
“Well, no, sir, I can’t rightly say how I do: wait a bit; bean’t you the gemman as travels in the dry line, and as I seed a-kissing the chambermaid?”
“No, I don’t travel at present, and I have not kissed a chambermaid for some time. Do you remember driving a gentleman over to the Abbey House a year or so ago?”
“Why, yes, in course I does. Lord, now, and be you he? and we seed old Devil’s Caresfoot’s granddaughter. Ah! many’s the time that he has damned me, and all so soft and pleasant like; but it was his eyes that did the trick. They was awful, just awful; and you gave me half-a- crown, you did. But somehow I thought I heard summat about you, sir, but I can’t rightly remember what it be, my head not being so good as it used to.”