Philipson and I did not wait to see the discussion ended. We adjourned to an inn and there refreshed. A roaring trade that inn was doing. The stag's behaviour did someone good. And very sociable were the customers. I gleaned from them several interesting scraps of information. It appeared that that was not the first time a stag had sought refuge in that particular butcher's shop; and since the enterprising tradesman invariably demanded compensation for damages which he alleged the creature had done him, dark suspicions were entertained as to the means which he adopted to get him there.
As I journeyed homewards, on the whole I was disposed to conclude that chasing a carted stag, under certain given conditions, might be made a not unamusing pastime--with about it a flavour of something Gallic, perhaps. They have some odd notions of sport on the other side of the Channel.
The stag-hunter's pleasure depends, it seems to me, entirely on the intelligence of the particular stag whose services happen to be retained for the day. If, being ill-tempered, or obstinate, or stupid, the moment it is uncarted it runs straight on, and keeps straight on, then, I should say, the probability is exceedingly strong that no single member of the hunt will ever catch sight of it again till the hunt is over. If, on the other hand, the creature is generous, not to say charitable--as our stag was!--and wanders about looking for disconsolate "staggers"--as our stag did!--then, I take it, the affair may be managed--by the stag!--in such a manner that everyone concerned may be justified in thinking that he has done something worth his talking about.
[MY WEDDING DAY]
The night before my wedding day I could scarcely sleep a wink--that is, to speak of. I suppose it was partly the excitement; because, of course, I could not help thinking--and there were so many things to think of. "Now, Maud," said mamma, when she was bidding me good-night, "don't you girls stop up talking. You get between the sheets as soon as you're upstairs, and go to sleep at once." But she might as well have talked to the moon. Of course, Eveleen came in to have what she called a "few last words"; from the way she said it there might have been going to be a funeral instead of a wedding. I had not previously suspected her of being sentimental; but that night she was positively depressing. And so horridly hopeful. She hoped that George would make a good husband, and that we should be happy, and that I should never regret what I was doing, and that it would all turn out for the best, and that marriage would suit me, and that I should not go into a rapid decline, like Aunt Louisa did, and that George would not quarrel with mamma, and that he would not estrange me from all my relations and friends, and that whatever happened I should always remember she was the only sister I had; she kept on hoping that sort of thing till I had to bundle her off.
To crown all, when at last I was between the sheets, who should come creeping into the room like a ghost but mamma herself, though it must have been frightfully late; and her manner was positively sepulchral.
"When you were a small child," she began, "I always used to come and kiss you before you went to sleep; have you forgotten?" Of course I had not forgotten. "So I have come again to kiss you, for the last time."
"Dear mother, I'm not dying to-morrow; at least, I hope not."
"That depends on what you mean by dying"--which was a cheerful thing to say! "I trust, my dear daughter, that events will prove you have chosen wisely, and that you will have every happiness; my own married life has not been without its trials. Only, in the midst of your own happiness, do not forget that you have a mother, and that you are still my child. God bless you!"
As she stooped over to kiss me I felt her tears fall on my cheeks. That finished me. After she had gone I had a good cry--the first I had had for years and years. I was more than half disposed to jump out of bed and run after her and promise that I would never leave her--never! never! never!--but--I managed not to. Still I was anything but comfortable, lying all alone in the dark there. Because I could not shut my eyes to the fact that mamma had said things to George, and that George had said things to mamma, and that papa had said things to both of them; and everybody knows how that sort of thing grows, till a breach is made which may never be bridged over. Then there was my dress. Three times I had had to have it altered; till, finally, in desperation, I had made up my mind to have an entirely new bodice made. I could not go to the altar screwed up so tight as to be in continual terror of my seams bursting, or else being suffocated. George would be furious if anything did happen. The new bodice was something of a fit. But it had not yet come home, though Mme. Sylvia had promised--pledged what she called her professional reputation--that it should come before ten o'clock to-morrow morning. Still, I could not help owning to myself that I had scarcely any faith in the woman; and suppose it did not come? My wedding dress!