The Railway Man and His Children

by Mrs. Oliphant

Her limbs trembled a little under her, and she sat down in the nearest chair. “It is a little sudden,” she said.

“My dear——let’s get it over,” said Rowland, his excitement showing through his usual sobriety like a face through a veil. “It’s a great change, but it is the first that is the worst. You and I, as soon as we’re together, will settle down into each other’s ways, and be very happy. I know I shall, and some of it’ll rub off upon you. There’s nothing in the world you can wish for that I shan’t be ready to do. It is only the first step that will be a trouble. Let’s get it over,” he cried, with a quiver in his voice.

This is not the usual way in which a man speaks to his bride of their marriage, but it is a very true way if people would be more sincere. And especially in the circumstances in which he and she stood, not young either of them, and taking fully into consideration all the mingled motives that go to make a satisfactory union of two lives. Mrs. Stanhope, to whom the conventional was everything, listened in horror, wondering how Evelyn would take this; but Evelyn took it very well, agreeing in it, and seeing the good sense of what her betrothed said. It was the first step that would be the worst. After that habit would come in and make them natural to each other. And to get over that first step, and to settle down quietly to the mutual companionship in which she too felt there was every prospect of satisfaction and content, would no doubt be a good thing. It was somewhat overwhelming to look forward to such a tremendous change so soon. But she agreed silently that there was no reason for delay, and that all he said was perfectly reasonable. “I cannot say anything against it,” she said quietly. “I have no doubt you are right. It seems a little sudden. I could have wished a little more time.”

“To think of it?” he said quietly. “Yes, my dear, if you had not made up your mind, that would be quite reasonable. But you have quite made up your mind.”

“Yes,” she said, “I have made up my mind.”

“Then thinking of it is no longer of any use—because it is in reality done, and there’s no way out of it. So the best thing is to carry the plan into execution, and think no more. Come,” said Rowland with an air of great complaisance, “I’ll yield a little I’ll say a month—that will leave quite time enough for everything,” he said, with a glance at Mrs. Stanhope to which she replied with a slight, scarcely perceptible nod of the head. And then it was all arranged, without difficulty and without any knowledge on Miss Ferrars’ part of the negotiations that had gone on before. Evelyn was much overwhelmed by the present her friend insisted upon making her, of her wedding dress, which turned out to be of the richest satin, and trimmed with the most beautiful lace, to the consternation of the bride, who remonstrated strongly. “How could you think of spending so much money? it is robbing the children—and it is far too grand for me.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Stanhope, the little hypocrite, “if you think how much you have done for the children, and saved me loads of money! I can afford that and more too out of what I have saved through you.” Evelyn was confounded by this generosity, both of gift and speech; but as the dress did not arrive until the day before the ceremony, there was not much time to think about it, and her mind was naturally full of many subjects more important. The same cause kept her even from remarking the extraordinary fuss in the station on the wedding day—the flags flying, the carpets that were put down for the bride’s procession, the decorations of the chapel. She scarcely saw them indeed, her mind being otherwise taken up. And when the Governor was brought up to her to be introduced, and the General followed him, both with an air of being royal princes at the least, amid the obsequious court of officers, Evelyn was easily persuaded that it was because they had chosen this day to make their inspection, and that their presence at the station was quite natural. “How fortunate for you that they are both here together,” she said to Mrs. Stanhope. “Now surely Fred will get what you want so much for him.” “Oh, he will get it, he will get it!” Mrs. Stanhope cried, hysterically. “Thanks to you, you darling, thanks to you!” “What have I to do with it?” said Evelyn. She was now Mrs. Rowland, and her mind was full of many things. It was a nuisance to have so many people about, all drawn, she supposed, in the train of the great men. As for the great men themselves, they were, of course, like any other gentlemen to Evelyn: they did not excite her by their greatness. She was a little surprised by all the splendour, the sumptuous table, the crowd of people; but took it for granted that one half at least was accidental, and that though it was quite unappropriate to an occasion so serious as a middle-aged marriage, it might be good for Fred Stanhope, who had so long been after an appointment, which always eluded his grasp.

Thus the bride accepted, without knowing it, the extraordinary honours that were done her, while all the station stood amazed by the number and greatness of the guests. The Lieutenant-Governor came without a murmur to compliment the great engineer. He would not have done it for Fred Stanhope, who was Brevet-Major, and thought himself a much greater man than Rowland. Neither would the General commanding have come to Fred unless he had known him in private, or had some special interest in him. But they all collected to the wedding of the man who had made the railroads and ditches—a proof, the military people thought, how abominably they were neglected by Government, though it could not sustain itself without them, not for a day! They were, however, all of them deeply impressed by the greatness that had come upon Miss Ferrars, whom they had pitied and patronised, or even snubbed during her humiliation—by the splendour of her dress, and of the breakfast, and of the bridegroom’s presents to her—and still more, by the manner in which she received the congratulations of the big wigs without the least excitement, as if she had been all her life in the habit of entertaining the great ones of the earth. “Give you my word,” said the little subaltern Bremner, who was an ugly little fellow, and had not much to recommend him, “she was not a bit more civil to the best of them than she was to me.” “Looked as if she had been used to nothing but swells all her life,” said another. “And as if she thought one just as good as another.” On the whole, it was this that struck the company, especially the gentlemen, most—that she was just as civil to a little lieutenant as she was to the General commanding. The ladies had other things to distract their minds, the jewels, the bridal dress, the table. Such a commotion had never been made in the Station before by any marriage: the Colonel’s daughter’s wedding feast was nothing in comparison: and that this should all be for the poor lady who had been nothing more than nursery governess to the Stanhopes, was quite bewildering. When the pair went away, the whole Station turned out. It was, of course, quite late when they started, as they were only going as far as Cumsalla. The Station was lit with coloured lamps, which blazed softly in the evening dusk, turning that oasis in the sand into a magical place. And the big moon got up with a bound into the sky, as she sometimes does when at the full, thrusting her large round lustrous face into the centre of all, as if to see what it meant. “By Jove, she’s come out to look at you too,” said the bridegroom to his bride. He was considerably excited, as was but natural—enchanted with the success of all his plans, and the éclat of the whole performance. It was altogether a trying moment—for perhaps something of a vulgar fibre in the man was betrayed by his eagerness that it should be “a grand affair,” and his delight in its success.

But fortunately Evelyn was not in possession of her usual clear-sightedness, and she was still of opinion that the presence of the great people had been accidental, and the extraordinary sumptuousness of all the preparations a piece of loving extravagance on the part of the Stanhopes, which should not, if she could help it, go without its reward. “I hope,” she said, “the moon is loyal, and means it as a demonstration for the Lieutenant-Governor, as all these rejoicings have been already to-day.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Rowland; “all the demonstrations have been for you. The Governor and the General were only my—I mean, Fred Stanhope’s guests.”

Evelyn thought her husband must have had too much champagne: but she would not let this vex her or disturb her, seeing that it was so great an occasion. She calmed him with her soothing voice, and did not show the faint movement of fright and alarm that was in her breast.