"And acted on without premeditation," resumed Master Shurtleff. "I left England early in the spring, and coming to this worthy city of Portsmouth with letters of introduction to Master Archdale, and others, I met the beautiful Mistress Archdale. From the first hour my fate was sealed; I loved her as only a man of strong and deep emotions can love, with a very different feeling from the devotion her young admirers gave her, ardent though they considered themselves. I had many rivals, some the young lady herself so disapproved that they ceased troubling me, even with their presence at her side. Among the others were only two worthy of attention, and only one whom I feared. I was reticent and watched; it was too soon to speak. But as I watched my fear of that one increased, for age, association, a sternness of manner that unbent only to her, many things in him showed me his possibilities of success. With that rival out of my path, my way to victory was clear. There came a day when, without lifting my finger against him, I could effectually remove him. I did it. It was unjustifiable, but the temptation rushed upon me suddenly with overwhelming force, and it was irresistible, for opposite me sat Katie, more beautiful and lovable than ever, and beside her was my rival, her cousin, with an air of security and satisfaction that aroused the evil in me. It was August; we were on the river in a dead calm, and at Mistress Archdale’s suggestion had been telling stories for amusement. Mine happened to be about a runaway match, and interested the young people so much, that when I had finished they asked several questions; one was in reference to a remark of mine, innocently made, that the marriage ceremony itself, pure and simple, was something unimaginably short. The story I had told illustrated this, and some of the party asked me more particularly as to what the form was. Then I saw my opportunity, and I took it. ’If one of the young ladies will permit Master Archdale to take her hand a moment,’ I said, ’I think I can recollect the words; I will show you how short the formula may be.’ Master Archdale was for holding Katie’s hand, but happily, as it seemed to me at the moment, she was on the wrong side. I requested him to take the lady on the other hand, who seemed a trifle unready for the jest, but was induced by the entreaties of the others, and especially of Mistress Katie herself. I went through the marriage service over them as rapidly as I dared, my voice sounding to myself thick with the beating of my heart. But no one noticed this; of course, it was all fun. And so that summer evening, all in fun, except on my part, Stephen Archdale and Elizabeth Royal were made man and wife, as fast as marriage vows could make them. Nothing was omitted that would make the ceremony binding and legal, not even its performance by a clergyman of the Church of England."
A cry of rage and despair interrupted the reader. But he went on directly.
"No one in America knew that I had been educated for the Church and had taken orders, though I have never preached except one month; the work was distasteful to me, and when my brother died and I inherited my grandfather’s property, I resigned my pastorate at once. This act shows how unfit for it I was. But whatever my grief may be, my conscience commands me to forbid this present marriage, and to declare with all solemnity, that Stephen Archdale already has a wife, and that she is that lady, who, until she opened my letter, believed herself still Mistres Royal."
A burst of amazement and indignation, that could no longer be repressed, interrupted the reading. Faces and voices expressed consternation. To this confession had been added names and dates, the year of the writer’s entrance into the ministry, the time and place of his brief pastorate, everything that was necessary to give his statement a reliable air, and to verify it if one chose to do so. It was evident that there could be no wedding that morning, and as the truth of the story impressed itself, more and more upon the minds of the audience, a fear spread lest there could be no wedding at all, such as they had been called together to witness. For, if this amusement should turn out to have been a real marriage, what help was there? It was in the days when amusements were viewed seriously and were readily imagined to lead to fatal consequences. Had Stephen Archdale really married? The people in the drawing-room that December morning were able men and women, they were among the best representatives of their time, an age that America will always be proud of, but they held marriage vows so sacred, that even made in jest there seemed to be a weight in them. Proofs must be found, law must speak, yet these people in waiting feared, for their part in life was to be so great in uprightness and self-restraint, that these qualities flowing through mighty channels should conquer physical strength and found a nation. To do a thing because it was pleasant was no part of their creed,—although, even then, there were occasional examples of it in practice.
That winter morning, therefore, the guests were ready to inveigh against the sin of unseemly jesting, to hope that all would be well, and to shake their heads mournfully.
"Harwin!" cried Master Archdale as he heard the name of the writer; "it seems impossible. I liked that man so much, and trusted him so much. I knew he loved my little girl, but I thought it was with an honorable love that would rejoice to see her happy. No, no, it cannot be true. We must wait. But matters will come right at last."
"Yes," assented the Colonel across whose face an incomprehensible expression had passed more than once during the reading; "it will all come right. We must make it so."
A hum of conversation went on in the room, comment, inquiry, sympathy, spoken to the chief actors in this scene, or if not near enough to them for that, spoken to the first who were patient enough to listen instead of themselves talking.
In the midst of it all Stephen raised his head, for he had been bending over Katie who still clung to him, and asked when the next ship left for England.
"In about three weeks," answered Col. Pepperrell, "and we will send out a person competent to make full inquiries; the matter shall be sifted."