“Desperate situations demand desperate remedies,” I replied mysteriously, though I hope patiently. “If you go home at once without any questions, you will be virtuous, and it is more than likely that you will also be happy; and if you are not, somebody else will be.”
Having seen the backs of our two cavaliers disappearing meekly into the rain, I stationed Francesca at a point of vantage, and went out to my victims in the front pew.
“The others went on ahead,” I explained, with elaborate carelessness—“they wanted to drive by Dublin Castle; and we are going to follow as we like. For my part, I am tired, and you are looking pale, Salemina; I am sure your ankle is painful. Help her, Dr. Gerald, please; she is so proud and self-reliant that she won't even lean on any one's arm, if she can avoid it. Take her down the middle aisle, for I've sent your car to that door” (this was the last of a series of happy thoughts on my part). “I'll go and tell Francesca, who is flirting with the organist. She has an appointment at the tailor's; so I will drop her there, and join you at the hotel in a few minutes.”
The refractory pair of innocent, middle-aged lovers started, arm in arm, on what I ardently hoped would be an eventful walk together. It was from, instead of toward the altar, to be sure, but I was certain it would finally lead them to it, notwithstanding the unusual method of approach. I gave Francesca the signal, and then, disappearing behind the screen, I held her hand in a palpitation of nervous apprehension that I had scarcely felt when Himself first asked me to be his.
The young organist, blushing to the roots of his hair, trembling with responsibility, smiling at the humour of the thing, pulled out all the stops, and the Wedding March pealed through the cathedral, the splendid joy and swing and triumph of it echoing through the vaulted aisles in a way that positively incited one to bigamy.
“We may regard the matter as settled now,” whispered Francesca comfortably. “Anybody would ask anybody else to marry him, whether he was in love with her or not. If it weren't so beautiful and so touching, wouldn't it be amusing? Isn't the organist a darling, and doesn't he enter into the spirit of it? See him shaking with sympathetic laughter, and yet he never lets a smile creep into the music; it is all earnestness and majesty. May I peep now and see how they are getting on?”
“Certainly not! What are you thinking of, Francesca? Our only justification in this whole matter is that we are absolutely serious about it. We shall say good-bye to the organist, wring his hand gratefully, and steal with him through the little door. Then in a half-hour we shall know the worst or the best; and we must remember to send him cards and a marked copy of the newspaper containing the marriage notice.”
Salemina told me all about it that night, but she never suspected the interference of any deus ex machina save that of the traditional God of Love, who, it seems to me, has not kept up with the requirements of the age in all respects, and leaves a good deal for us women to do nowadays.
“Would that you had come up this aisle to meet me, Salemina, and that you were walking down again as my wife!” This was what Dr. Gerald had surprised her by saying, when the wedding music had finally entered into his soul, driving away for the moment his doubt and fear and self-distrust; and I can well believe that the hopelessness of his tone stirred her tender heart to its very depths.
“What did you answer?” I asked breathlessly, on the impulse of the moment.