"That is what I have come to see you about. I never realized until I had done it what the pater would say. You know I am fond of him, even although we have never got on well together. He has never understood me, and I am afraid I have never understood him—there is no link of sympathy between us; but then, you know, he is my pater after all. Yes, I have joined; but that is not all, Erskine."
"Not all?" I queried. "What is there besides?"
"I have been and got married," was his reply.
"Got married!"
"Yes. I expect it was a mad thing to do, but I could not help myself. You don't know what it is to be in love, Erskine, and I could not bear the idea of leaving Mary without knowing she was my wife."
"And, of course, your father knows nothing about that either?"
"No, he knows nothing. You see, I got married by special license. I was afraid to tell the pater what was in my mind,—afraid he would interfere somehow and stop me,—so I thought I would do it first and tell him afterwards."
Our conversation was not nearly so connected and straightforward as I have described it here. What he said was uttered in quick, disjointed sentences. Sometimes he would break off in the middle of what he was saying, and talk about something else. That he was greatly excited was easy to see. It was evident, too, that his duty towards his father troubled him greatly.
"I don't mind mother," he said; "she will be all right—mother understands me. Of course, Bella and I laugh at her, and all that sort of thing, because she is always making plans for us, and mapping out our day's program, and telling us what we ought to do. We call her the general manager; but she is a good sort is mother, and she understands us, too. But the pater is different. Somehow, he cannot understand us, and we cannot understand him. I suppose, in a way, he is just, and in many things he is generous to me, but in others——Well, there it is. I wondered what I ought to do. At first I thought I would go away without telling him anything, but that would be acting like a sneak. Mind you, Erskine, I would not undo anything I have done. If ever a man had a call to serve his country, I have, and I think it is a splendid piece of luck that I can be useful at a time like this, without going through the training of an ordinary soldier. I jumped at the chance of going to the front straight away; but then, there was Mary. How could I leave her without being sure that I had her? I was afraid the pater would take steps to hinder me from ever getting her. You have some idea what he is—and I was afraid. Besides, she was willing, and so I—I——God forgive me if I have done wrong, Erskine, but I could not help it."
"Well, what can I do to help you?" I asked.