“I'll go in too, Jack, for he's straightened me, and not for the first time. You know how I used to live... well, that is over, and it was Rutherford saved me.”
“He looks as if he had been badly hit some time. Do you know his record?”
“There's some story about his being in love with a poor girl and being determined to marry her, but 'Iron Warrants' got round her and persuaded her that it would be Rutherford's ruin; so she disappeared, and they say Rutherford is waiting for her to this day. But I don't give it as a fact.”
“You may be sure every word of it is true, old man; it's like one of Thompson's tricks, for I was in his office once, and it's just what that man in the pulpit would do; poor chap, he's served his time... I say, though, suppose that girl turns up some day.”
They were near the vestry door and arranging their order of entrance when a woman came swiftly down the empty aisle as from some distant corner of the church and stood behind them for an instant.
“Is this Mr. Rutherford's room, gentlemen”—with a delicate flavour of Highland in the perfect English accent—“and would it be possible for me to see him... alone?”
They received a shock of delight on the very sight of her and did instant homage. It was not on account of her magnificent beauty—a woman in the height of her glory—nor the indescribable manner of good society, nor the perfection of her dressing, nor a singular dignity of carriage. They bowed before her for the look in her eyes, the pride of love, and, although both are becoming each day her more devoted slaves, yet they agree that she could only look once as she did that night.
It was Charlie that showed her in, playing beadle for the occasion that this princess might not have to wait one minute, and his honour obliged him to withdraw instantly, but before the door could be closed he heard Rutherford cry—“At last, Magdalen, my love!”
“Do you think, Charlie...?”
“Rutherford has got his reward, Jack, and twenty years would not have been too long to wait.”