They walked to the little wharf at the end of the lawn, and Neville lifted Angela into the boat, which lay gently rocking upon the dark water. The sail had been dropped and the slender white mast was outlined against the dark water and the darker sky. It was the unearthly hour which is neither night nor day. A wind sharp and cool was blowing—the wind that brought Neville to Harrowby and would take him away. He wrapped Angela tenderly in the great cloak, and sheltered her with his arm. It seemed to them both as if they were adrift upon the ocean. Neville said little, not being a man of many words, and Angela scarcely spoke at all. The wild beating of her heart choked her speech. She had denied she was afraid, but in truth her mind was full of fearful imaginings, of self-pity, and of a dread of the future. Nevertheless, she had that species of courage which can disguise fear, and Neville saw nothing in her agitation and silence to give him alarm. She had not shown the least unwillingness to marry him. In truth the habit of old affection was so strong upon her that Neville’s breast seemed her natural place of refuge. She felt exactly as she had done when as a little girl she was reproved for some childish naughtiness and Neville, taking her upon his knee, would still her weeping and make her laugh while tears were yet upon her childish cheeks. To Neville it was the sweetest and the bitterest hour of his life. It was Angela who said after an hour had passed: “Listen, I hear Richard returning!”
Neville rose at once and helped her from the boat. It was then after four o’clock in the morning, and the wan light of the approaching dawn was over the still and silent house, the old garden, the great masses of trees with their delicate foliage outlined against a mournful and stormy sky, and the weeping willow in the brick-walled spot lying out in the wide, open fields.
Halfway across the lawn Angela and Neville met Richard.
“Everything is ready,” he said to Neville. “Mr. Brand has been in the house half an hour. You must abate your pride, Neville, and be married in the house.”
“No,” said Neville, in the same tone in which his father had refused Angela’s plea to see them married. “I have been forbidden my father’s roof, and it is the last place on earth that I should now choose to be married in.”
Neville had rarely withstood Richard, but on this occasion Richard made no protest, and Neville continued, with a grim, half-smile: “You can bring Mr. Brand and Mr. Lyddon down to the wharf; that is as near being no man’s land as one can find.”
Richard, without a word, turned back to the house, and Neville and Angela returned to the little wharf which ran out twenty feet into the river that whispered among its wooden piles.
In a few minutes the wedding group was formed. There were only five persons: the bride and bridegroom, Richard Tremaine, Mr. Lyddon, and Mr. Brand. Mr. Brand, looking thoroughly frightened, began some high-sounding platitudes, rashly inquiring of Neville if he knew his own mind.
“Certainly I do,” answered Neville, interrupting him, “and so does Angela. Please proceed as quickly as possible, as my honor requires that I should not remain away from my post one moment longer than is necessary.”
Richard produced the license, and Mr. Brand began the wedding ceremony. Until that moment no one had thought of a ring, but when that part of the ceremony was reached in which the ring is necessary, Neville looked confounded. He took Angela’s hand, however, and drew from it a little ruby ring which he had given her when she was a child, and that was made to do duty as a wedding ring. And so Angela Vaughn became Neville Tremaine’s wife.