This discussion was only terminated by our arrival at his house; the most delightful little parsonage that can be imagined: a snug, green, nestling box to the eye, yet quite equal to the requirements of the large family which this mild and happy couple bade fair to encumber themselves with. The church was within a short walk, an aged, ivy-clad structure, with many noble trees round about it, and a yard full of ancient, leaning indecipherable, memorial stones. Grace was awaiting our arrival that she might drive with Sophie to Penzance on her shopping errands. We embraced as though we had not met for years. I said to her:
"Now you are satisfied that you are my wife?"
"No," she cried, holding up her left hand from which she had removed the wedding-ring; then producing it from her pocket, she added, "Keep it till you can put it on properly."
This damped me, and my face showed some annoyance. I honestly believed her to be my wife, willing as I was that Frank should presently confirm the ceremony that Captain Parsons had performed, and her removal of the ring was a sort of shock to me, though, to be sure, my good sense told me that if there was any virtue whatever in our shipboard union it was not to be weakened by my carrying the ring instead of her wearing it.
She stood gazing at me in her loving, girlish way for a moment, then observing disappointment, slipped her fingers into my waistcoat pocket, pulled out the ring, and put it on again. I kissed her for that, and though Frank shook his head, Sophie said, "If Grace is really married, as I believe her to be after what Frank read, then she is perfectly in the right to do what her husband wishes."
But to make an end, seeing that but little more remains to be told. It was four days after our arrival at —— that I drove Grace over to Penzance to enable her to keep an appointment with her dressmaker. Caudel still hung about the quaint old town. He had sent me a rude, briny scrawl, half the words looking as though they had been smeared out by his little finger, and the others as if they had been written by his protruded tongue, in which he said, in spelling beyond expression wonderful, that he had brought the shipwright to terms, and wished to see me. I left Grace at the dressmaker's and walked to the address where Caudel said I should find him. He looked highly soaped and polished, his hair shone like his boots, and he wore a new coat, with several fathoms of spotted kerchief wound round about his throat.
After we had exchanged a few sentences of greeting and goodwill, he addressed me thus:
"Your honour gave me leave to do the best I could with the dandy. Well, Mr. Barclay, sir, this is what I've done and here's the money."
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which buttoned up square as a Dutchman's stern, after the fashion that is long likely to remain popular with men of the Caudel breed, and pulling out a large chamois leather bag, he extracted from it a quantity of banknotes, very worn, greasy and crumpled, and some sovereigns and shillings, which looked as if they had been stowed away in an old stocking since the beginning of the century. He surveyed me with a gaze of respectful triumph, perhaps watching for some expression of astonishment.
"How much have you there, Caudel?"