I did not exactly believe the last; but, finding Bulstrode so well disposed to give his rejection this turn, it was not my part to contradict him. We talked together half an hour longer, in the most amicable manner, when we parted; Bulstrode promising not to betray the secret of my presence.
I lingered in sight of the house until evening, when I ventured nearer, hoping to get a glimpse of Anneke as she passed some window, or appeared, by the soft light of the moon, under the piazza that skirted the south front of the building. Lilacsbush deserved its name, being a perfect wilderness of shrubbery; and, favoured by the last, I had got quite near the house, when I heard light footsteps on the gravel of an adjacent walk. At the next instant, soft, low voices met my ears, and I was a sort of compelled auditor of what followed.
“No, Anne, my fate is sealed for this world,” said Mary Wallace, “and I shall live Guert's widow as faithfully and devotedly, as if the marriage-vow had been pronounced. This much is due to his memory, on account of the heartless doubts I permitted to influence me, and which drove him into those terrible scenes that destroyed him. When a woman really loves, Anneke, it is vain to struggle against anything but positive unworthiness, I fear. Poor Guert was not unworthy in any sense; he was erring and impulsive, but not unworthy. No—no—not unworthy! I ought to have given him my hand, and he would have been spared to us. As it is, I can only live his widow in secret, and in love. You have done well, dearest Anneke, in being so frank with Corny Littlepage, and in avowing that preference which you have felt almost from the first day of your acquaintance.”
Although this was music to my ears, honour would not suffer me to hear more, and I moved swiftly away, stirring the bushes in a way to apprize the speaker of the proximity of a stranger. It was necessary to appear, and I endeavoured so to do, without creating any alarm.
“It must be Mr. Bulstrode,” said the gentle voice of Anneke, “who is probably looking for us—see, there he comes, and we will meet—”
The dear speaker became tongue-tied; for, by this time, I was near enough to be recognised. At the next instant, I held her in my arms. Mary Wallace disappeared, how or when, I cannot say. I place a veil over the happy hour that succeeded, leaving the old to draw on their experience for its pictures, and the young to live in hope. At the end of that time, by Anneke's persuasion, I entered the house, and had to brave Herman Mordaunt's disposition to rally me. I was not only mercifully, but hospitably treated, however, Anneke's father merely laughing at my little adventure, saying, that he looked upon it favourably, and as a sign that I was a youth of spirit.
Early in October we were married, the Rev. Mr. Worden performing the ceremony. Our home was to be Lilacsbush, which Herman Mordaunt conveyed to me the same day, leaving it, as it was furnished, entirely in my hands. He also gave me my wife's mother's fortune, a respectable independence, and the death of Capt. Hugh Roger, soon after, added considerably to my means. We made but one family, between town, Lilacsbush, and Satanstoe, Anneke and my mother, in particular, conceiving a strong affection for each other.
As for Bulstrode, he went home before the marriage, but keeps up a correspondence with us to this hour. He is still single, and is a declared old bachelor. His letters, however, are too light-hearted to leave us any concern on the subject; though these are matters that may fall to the share of my son Mordaunt, should he ever have the grace to continue this family narrative.