The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a modest little marriage was celebrated — without the knowledge of the neighbours, without a crowd in the church, and even without a wedding-breakfast.
Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride) drew Ovid into a corner before they left the house. “She still looks delicate, poor dear,” he said. “Do you really consider her to be well again?”
“As well as she will ever be,” Ovid answered. “Before I returned to her, time had been lost which no skill and no devotion can regain. But the prospect has its bright side. Past events which might have cast their shadow over all her life to come, have left no trace in her memory. I will make her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me.”
Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses; Maria and Zo were the bridesmaids: they had only waited to go to church, until one other eagerly expected person joined them. There was a general inquiry for Miss Minerva. Carmina astonished everybody, from the bride-groom downwards, by announcing that circumstances prevented her best and dearest friend from being present. She smiled and blushed as she took Ovid’s arm. “When we are man and wife, and I am quite sure of you,” she whispered, “I will tell you, what nobody else must know. In the meantime, darling, if you can give Frances the highest place in your estimation — next to me — you will only do justice to the noblest woman that ever lived.”
She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said those words. It was dated on the morning of her marriage: “When you return from the honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be the first friend who opens her arms and her heart to you. Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all human, my dear — don’t tell your husband.”
It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to make for an absent guest, when the first christening was celebrated. On that occasion the happy young mother betrayed a conjugal secret to her dearest friend. It was at Ovid’s suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss Minerva’s christian name.
But when the married pair went away to their happy new life, there was a little cloud of sadness, which vanished in sunshine — thanks to Zo. Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making himself agreeable to everybody, paid his court to Mr. Gallilee’s youngest daughter. “And who do you mean to marry, my little Miss, when you grow up?” the lawyer asked with feeble drollery.
Zo looked at him in grave surprise. “That’s all settled,” she said; “I’ve got a man waiting for me.”
“Oh, indeed! And who may he be?”
“Donald!”
“That’s a very extraordinary child of yours,” Mr. Mool said to his friend, as they walked away together.
Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. “Has my message been given to my wife?” he asked.
Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. “Messages from her husband are as completely thrown away on her,” he answered, “as if she was still in the asylum. In justice to yourself, consent to an amicable separation, and I will arrange it.”
“Have you seen her?”
“I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares herself to be an infamously injured woman — and, upon my honour, she proves it, from her own point of view. ‘My husband never came near me in my illness, and took my children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly ready to be removed from their mother, that neither of them had the decency to write me a letter. My niece contemplated shamelessly escaping to my son, and wrote him a letter vilifying his mother in the most abominable terms. And Ovid completes the round of ingratitude by marrying the girl who has behaved in this way.’ I declare to you, Gallilee, that was how she put it! ‘Am I to blame,’ she said, ‘for believing that sto............