‘No,’ said Gerald, ‘I think I have won a greater prize than a fellowship,’ as he stooped and kissed her.
It is no part of this story to relate in detail the events of the weeks between the election to the fellowship and the wedding-day. Gerald Eversley spent them principally at Helmsbury. His life was secure and serene. Nothing remained—not even the thought of an examination—to mar its exquisite felicity. He and Ethel could be always together. The thousand and one things which need to be settled even before an ordinary wedding—but what wedding was ever ordinary in the eyes of the persons most concerned in it?—occupied and engrossed their thoughts. Mr. Eversley would, of course, take part in the service; so would the worthy rector of Helmsbury; but the bishop of the diocese would marry them. Mrs. Eversley would be present in her new silk gown, and one of her daughters was to be a bridesmaid. Harry Venniker would not hear of anyone being the best man but himself, and indeed Gerald Eversley had no other intimate friend. Slices of wedding-cake would be sent to innumerable friends and acquaintances, not omitting Mr. and Mrs. Seaford as representatives of the secular or agricultural life at Kestercham. Lady Venniker took care that all the tenants on the estate, men and women and their children too, should participate in the general rejoicing. If there was any malevolent person who thought of suggesting that Miss Venniker was not making very much of a match, the answer was ready in the language of the village carpenter, that he supposed ‘she know’d her own feelin’ best,’ and she looked ‘as happy as a cherubim, bless her soul!’
And what of the spiritual conflict that had made Gerald Eversley’s life so bitter? Was it reasonable that religious doubts should be dissipated by the glow of affection for a beautiful girl? It was not reasonable, but it was human, it was true.
When the soul of man is at peace, it is easy to believe. How could Gerald, to whom the greatest of human blessings had been vouchsafed in the hour of his despair, deny any more the goodness of God? A great poet said he was always most religious on a fine summer’s day. Gerald lived now in the sunshine of summer. The love of man or woman facilitates the love of God. To live in the presence of the good and holy is to believe in Him who is All-Good and All-Holy. One man sees in Nature only the earthquake and the pestilence. Another sees the peacefulness of the evening, the sunshine, and the soft and beauteous rain. It is not Nature that is different, but it is man or the mood of man.
Mr. Eversley made no allusion to Gerald’s profession. Perhaps a place in the Treasury would seem to him to involve some danger of ‘laying up treasure upon earth.’ He had a vague idea, however, that Gerald would get on in the world, by his own ability or by Lord Venniker’s influence, and that it would not be well for him to interfere. But in the secrecy of his heart he could not surrender the hope that his dear son—the child of so many prayers—would yet be guided by the Divine Light to take upon him the sacred profession which fulfilled all the deepest emotions and the loftiest aspirations of his own heart. Could he see that result, he felt it would be easy for him to ‘depart in peace.’ That was his soul’s desire. He did not know that Lady Venniker, perhaps Ethel herself, desired it too. Even Gerald himself did not know it. They spoke of his life in the Treasury as settled and permanent. Women do not as a rule gain their object by asking directly for it; they have other ways of gaining it.
But how happy was Gerald in being encompassed, on the eve of his marriage, by the prayers and influences of these devout souls!
CHAPTER XIII
THE VALLEY OF THE DARK SHADOW
There were yet three weeks—three weeks only—to the marriage. It was an exceptionally cold spring. But everybody said the warm weather would come in time for the marriage.
Gerald Eversley went back to Oxford. It was necessary that he should arrange to close his residence there and remove his effects with a view to beginning married life in London. He was sorry to leave Helmsbury, still more sorry to leave Ethel; for she had not been very well for the last two or three days, and was confined to her room with a sore throat. Still the time was short, and he could not without discourtesy to his college omit some customary ceremonial duties before quitting it for good.
He wrote to Ethel from Oxford, saying that the master of the college had expressed much interest in his marriage, and sincere regret at his leaving the university; he had also sent him a wedding present. He added that he found himself involved in so many engagements at Oxford that he doubted if it would be possible for him to return to Helmsbury (except perhaps for one night) until a day or two before the wedding. He begged her to let him know that she had got over the cold and was feeling well again.