He questioned him regarding the incidents already related, about the secret marriage that had occurred nearly eighteen years previous; and when the young man told him who he was—the son of that fair young bride—he was surprised to see him betray deep emotion.
“Yes, mister,” he said, eyeing him keenly, “I remember clearly the young gentleman and pretty lady that came here to be married, and he, the groom, paid me a handsome sum to leave the chapel unlocked, so that they could go there for the ceremony. He would bring his own clergyman, he said, and as the marriage would have to be kept secret for awhile, he wanted it done as late as possible, and no lights.”
The sexton here stopped and leaned reflectively upon the handle of his spade, while he contemplated the neat little chapel visible through the trees.
“I tell you, sir,” he at length resumed, “the sight of the gentleman’s money won me at first, but when I came to think it all over, I seemed to think that somehow it did not have a right look—their not wanting any lights and coming so late in the evening, to say nothing about their bribing me to let them into the chapel. I thought if it was honest and square, even if the marriage was to be a secret, they might have come quietly but openly, and at a proper time, for the ceremony; and, sir—I beg your pardon if I did wrong, but my conscience was heavy—the gold seemed like the price of innocent blood to me, and I went and confessed the whole thing to the old rector himself, and gave him the money to put in the poor-box.”
Marion’s son started violently at these last words, and he grew white and trembling.
“When did you make this confession—before or after marriage?” he asked, with intense eagerness.
“The afternoon before, sir. I felt that if there was anything wrong about the affair, the good old rector would see that it was made right. He reprimanded me severely for the betrayal of my trust, as he called it, but he relieved my mind by saying that no wrong should be done. Sir, you are faint,” he said, noticing his visitor’s ghastly face, which was absolutely startling in its pallor.
“No; go on! go on!” he breathed, in a voice that sounded strange even to himself.
“Well, sir, you had better sit down upon the bench, for you don’t look able to stand;” and he indicated a rustic bench near by, and the young man sank weakly upon it, motioning his companion to proceed. “I don’t know, sir, how the old rector managed that business, but I do know that after that young couple had entered the chapel I crept softly up and looked in through an open window, and—I heard his reverence marry them good and strong as ever a couple was married in the world.”
“Are you sure?” demanded his listener, actually gasping for breath at this startling and unexpected announcement, while he wiped away the great drops of sweat that had gathered upon his brow.