OPPORTUNITY.
"Once upon a time, then," he said, "in Scotland, no matter in what part, there dwelt two disconsolate people. They ought to have been very happy, for they were lovers, but, as you may have noticed, lovers are happy only under the condition that love runs smooth, and here it was extremely rough. The suitor was of ancient family and poor, the lady was charming, and wilful—and an heiress? You are all waiting to hear me say that—no, she was poor, too. And so you see that a doubling of impecuniosity was quite impossible, for poverty rolls up fast in a geometrical progression. But the lovers had no such scruples. It's a romantic story enough if I could tell it to you in detail."
"And why not?" cried Katie, whose interest was making him wish that were possible.
"I should have to go back for generations, and tell you of family feuds as old as the families themselves, a Montague and Capulet state of affairs, although each family had so much respect for the golden amenities of life that its possession by the other would have softened the asperity of feeling. But each was poor,—poor, I mean, for people in that station.
"The lady, as I said, was a beauty; the gentleman had extra will enough when it was roused to make up for the absence of beauty, although, indeed, the lady was not lacking in that quality either, and so, opposition made them only more determined to have their own way. It was impossible to run away,—she was too well guarded; defiance was the only thing, and I must confess that from what I knew of them both, I think they enjoyed it. The Capulets, as I will call them, were dissenters, the Montagues belonged to the Established Church. Now, the [86] Capulets were very zealous, and at this time a famous itinerant preacher came into their neighborhood. They, being the greatest people in the place, invited him to stay at their house during his visit. He often preached in the open air. One day, at the end of one of those eloquent discourses, a young man in countryman's dress came up and asked him to marry himself and a young woman whom he had been waiting upon a long time, but who had refused to be married unless this very preacher could perform the ceremony. 'She said it would be a blessed wedlock of your joining,' pursued the young fellow. The preacher, although he was a great man, was only human,—it is well, I suppose, that we never outgrow our humanity,—and felt flattered by the young girl's belief in his sanctity. He proposed the next day for the ceremony, and was arranging to marry the rustic couple on the lawn before the house of his host when the young man interrupted him by stating that it must be gone through with immediately, for his lady-love was so shy that it was with difficulty she had been persuaded to come to-night, and she would never consent if he gave her all that time to think the matter over in, nor would she be willing to come up on the lawn with the great people. She was at hand with one of her friends; everything was prepared; would he marry them then? At that moment? The bewildered minister looked up the road before him, where the carriage of the Capulets was disappearing at the top of the hill; he had been told that the daughter would remain with him, and that the carriage would return as soon as Mamma Capulet had made inquiries about a cottager who was ill; for his congregation had been crowding about him with questions and tearful confessions of sins, and the good Capulets, who had the opportunity to make their confessions in private, were in haste to be gone. Where was his fair companion? He looked about him; he had lost sight of her in the throng. But in a few moments she came forward, accompanying the bride, who the groom explained was a protégée of hers. Miss Capulet had drawn down her veil, and in answer to this statement nodded to the reverend gentleman and murmured an assent. The bride's face, too, was hidden by her bonnet and by her shyness, which prevented her from once looking up. The name of the groom lingered with surprise on the minister's lips, for it was not a clodhopper's name, I assure you; but he had heard nothing of the love affair. When he came to the bride's name, however, he did pause, for it was that of the Capulet. 'How is this?' he asked. 'How has she the same name as you, my child?' Before the veiled lady could answer, the groom informed him that the bride's family, being old retainers of the other, had the same last name, as it was in Scottish clans, and that the bride herself, born on the same day as the young lady at the great house, had received also the same Christian name, which explained her being under Miss Capulet's protection. The good man was conscious that, though his piety was eminent, his knowledge of all genealogy but Bible was deficient, and when both women softly assented to this statement, [87] his air of perplexity gave place to the manner of a man who understands the business of the hour. He was in a hurry, and in an incredibly short time the two were one. 'Is it all over?' asked the groom. 'Are we securely married?' 'You are joined in the holy bonds of matrimony until death do you part,' returned the clergyman, solemnly, beginning to add his blessing. But this died half-uttered on his lips, for the bride slowly raised her head, threw back her bonnet, and the haughty face and laughing eyes of the Capulet were before him. 'Bear witness,' she said, her shyness completely gone, 'that I'm this gentleman's wife.' 'You are, indeed,' he stammered. 'But how—why—who is this?' and he reached out a trembling hand toward the veiled lady. 'My maid,' returned the bride; 'she came here like one of the cottagers, and we exchanged gowns while you were talking to the people.' 'I hope, I sincerely hope, it's all right,' returned the poor man; 'but if I had known, I would have spoken to your honored parent, first.' 'Yes, I'm sure of that,' she laughed, 'and then we should not have been so happy.' At the moment a post-chaise drove up, into which the bridal pair and the servant made haste to get. 'Pardon me that I cannot accompany you home,' laughed the lady, leaning out to give the minister her hand in farewell. 'You cannot know how grateful to you we are. I shall never be able to reward you; I can only give you my thanks and prayers—and be sure to tell them at home how firmly you have married us.' The chaise drove off, and the good man was left alone. He felt inclined to think that he had been dreaming, until he looked down and saw in his hand a purse of gold pieces that the groom had slipped into it, whispering, 'If you refuse for yourself, be my almoner and give it to the poor.' Before the preacher had recovered his wits the carriage of the Capulets reappeared. The lovers, however, did not re-appear for two years, and by that time Montague had unexpectedly fallen heir to a fortune and a title, and was received with open arms by the new relatives. In our days it's always the one who was not the prodigal who has the fatted calf killed for him."
"I'm afraid the poor minister was not very welcome when he had told his story," said Elizabeth.
"Clever enough, on my word," cried Archdale.
"Not quite to your liking, I fancy, though," answered Harwin.
"Do you think he would have had the wedding indoors, in the teeth of everybody?" laughed Katie.