“Then you can come with us as my father-in-law, Mynheer Marais. At any rate, it is certain that I will not go away and leave her here to starve.”
Now I think that something which he saw in my eye showed him that I was in earnest. At least, he changed his tone and began to argue, almost to plead.
“Be reasonable, Allan,” he said. “How can you marry Marie when there is no prédicant to marry you? Surely, if you love her so much, you would not pour mud upon her name, even in this wilderness?”
“She might not think it mud,” I replied. “Men and women have been married without the help of priests before now, by open declaration and public report, for instance, and their children held to be born in wedlock. I know that, for I have read of the law of marriage.”
“It may be, Allan, though I hold no marriage good unless the holy words are said. But why do you not let me come to the end of my story?”
“Because I thought it was ended, Mynheer Marais.”
“Not so, Allan. I told you that I had sworn that she should never marry you with my will. But when she is of age, which will be in some six months’ time, my will counts no longer, seeing that then she is a free woman who can dispose of herself. Also I shall be clear of my oath, for no harm will come to my soul if that happens which I cannot help. Now are you satisfied?”
“I don’t know,” I answered doubtfully, for somehow all Marais’s casuistry, which I thought contemptible, did not convince me that he was sincere. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “Much may chance in six months.”
“Of course, Allan. For instance, Marie might change her mind and marry someone else.”
“Or I might not be there to marry, mynheer. Accidents sometimes happen to men who are not wanted, especially in wild countries or, for the matter of that, to those who are.”