Belhaven had leased the place and furnished it simply, intending to entertain his friends with various fêtes, over which the beautiful Mrs. Astry was to preside, accompanied, of course, by an admiring and docile husband. Unhappily Belhaven and Eva had reckoned without Astry.
It was to this quaint old house that Belhaven took Rachel. There seemed to be nothing else to do. Neither of them had framed, even dimly, that existence which must follow the marriage in Astry's library, and it came to them with a shock when Astry pleasantly suggested a wedding trip.
It was afternoon when they were left alone together in the quaint old room that had been the tavern tap-room. Belhaven had furnished it with admirable and simple taste and, as the sun shone through the many-paned windows and lit up the warm tints of rugs and hangings, touching the gold frame of an old-fashioned mirror over the still more old-fashioned mantel, Rachel was struck with its charms. She walked over to the fireplace and, opening the little cupboard set at one side of the chimney, revealed two deep shelves; above the mirror was another little door and two more shelves. She opened both.
"What delightful corners," she said dreamily. "Do you suppose the old fellow kept his rum here and his accounts there, and mixed them at bedtime?"
"Possibly before bedtime," replied Belhaven, with an effort. He had been trying to swallow a cup of tea that Rachel had poured for him.
The servants had prepared a little tea-table and decorated it with an appropriate bouquet of white roses and lilies-of-the-valley. It had loomed up embarrassingly gigantic when they entered, out of all proportion to its actual size, but Rachel had very simply made the tea before she rose to look at the mantel. Belhaven could not quite imitate her; her fortitude and her forbearance were so impressive that he found himself watching her with a curiously complex feeling. She was not beautiful, as he conceived beauty, but she was wonderfully reassuring and restful, and her tranquil manner, her self-controlled expression, the clear gray of her eyes, all seemed to convey a message. As yet Belhaven did not fully grasp it; he did not know women like this, but dimly, like a blind man, his soul was groping forward to meet hers. Hitherto he had had a very good opinion of himself, he had not been too severe on his own backsliding, but the last few days had convinced him that there was a reckoning, even for him. If it had been hard for Rachel, it had been equally hard for him; he had faced the terrible prospect of being called a coward, and he had been unable to save himself without injury to a woman. The situation had been gall and wormwood and, thinking of it, he watched Rachel as she moved about the room inspecting it.
"I like your house," she said frankly.
"It is also yours," he replied abruptly, and then hated himself for saying it.
A faint color rose to her pale cheeks. "Thank you," she said gravely, "you're very courteous."
There was another silence. The warm sunlight, creeping across the floor, had climbed from the hem of Rachel's dress to the belt, where she had fastened a bunch of violets that one of the old servants had brought her, her only wedding bouquet. Her long-fingered, slender hand hung at her side and Belhaven saw the ring he had just placed on it with almost a start of surprise. She was his wife, incredible circumstance!