CHAPTER IX.
"FAREWELL, MACKRIMMON!"
A night journey from Greenock to London is a sufficiently prosaic affair in ordinary circumstances, but it need not be always so. What if a young man, apparently occupied in making himself comfortable and in talking nonsense to his friend and companion, should be secretly calculating how the journey could be made most pleasant to a bride, and that bride his bride? Lavender made experiments with regard to the ways and tempers of guards; he borrowed planks of wood with which to make sleeping-couches of an ordinary first-class carriage; he bribed a certain official to have the compartment secured; he took note of the time when, and the place where, refreshments could be procured: all these things he did, thinking of Sheila. And when Ingram, sometimes surprised by his good-nature, and occasionally remonstrating against his extravagance, at last fell asleep on the more or less comfortable cushions stretched across the planks, Lavender would have him wake up again, that he might be induced to talk once more about Sheila. Ingram would make use of some wicked words, rub his eyes, ask what was the last station they had passed, and then begin to preach to Lavender about the great obligations he was under to Sheila, and what would be expected of him in after times.
"You are coming away just now," he would say, while Lavender, who could not sleep at all, was only anxious that Sheila's name should be mentioned, "enriched with a greater treasure than falls to the lot of most men. If you know how to value that treasure, there is not a king or emperor in Europe who should not envy you."
"But don't you think I value it?" the other would say anxiously.
"We'll see about that afterward, by what you do. But in the mean time you don't know what you have won. You don't know the magnificent single-heartedness of that girl, her keen sense of honor, nor the strength of character, of judgment and decision that lies beneath her apparent simplicity. Why, I have known Sheila, now—But what's the use of talking?"
"I wish you would talk, though, Ingram," said his companion quite submissively. "You have known her longer than I. I am willing to believe all you say of her, and anxious, indeed, to know as much about her as possible. You don't suppose I fancy she is anything less than you say?"
"Well," said Ingram doubtfully, "perhaps not. The worst of it is, that you take such odd readings of people. However, when you marry her, as I now hope you may, you will soon find out; and then, if you are not grateful, if you don't understand and appreciate then the fine qualities of this girl, the sooner you put a millstone round your neck and drop over Chelsea Bridge the better."
"She will always have in you a good friend to look after her when she comes to London."