Then Joseph--who told himself he had never seen such a set-out since he came, a hungry page from the orphan school--wanted to know why Captain Glen, who had been so huffed about Miss Clotilde's marriage, should be there, and look so jolly, and propose the health of the bride. "It seemed rum," Joseph said, "though certainly him and Miss Marie looked pretty thick now, while little Mr Millet sat next to Miss Ruth," who, to the man's notions, was "the prettiest of the lot."

Joseph saw and heard a good deal. He saw Major Malpas place his gla.s.s in his dark eye, and, bringing the thick brow over it, stare very hard at the bride, who did not seem to mind it in the least--a fact which made the philosopher declare that "Miss Clo had got face enough for anything."

He also heard Major Malpas, who was perfect in his dress and handsome bearing, say to one of the guests who had made some remark respecting Glen's appearance, that the Captain was a fine animal, that was all.

"Too big for a soldier, sah. Looks like a big mastiff, sah, taking care of that little toy-terrier Millet."

Joseph's notions of the wedding feast were very much after the fashion of the celebrated coat of his ancient namesake, of many colours, and those colours were terribly muddled up in his brain. They were bad enough before the matter of that five-pound note occurred; after that the unfortunate young man's ideas were as if shaken up in a bottle to a state of neutral tint in which nothing was plain.

He put that five-pound note, crumpled as it was, either in his breeches or his behind coat-pocket, but what became of it afterwards he could not tell. He might have taken it out to hold a hot plate, to use as a d'oyley, or to wipe his nose, or to dab up the wine that Mr Elbraham spilt when he upset his champagne-gla.s.s. He might or he mightn't. He couldn't say then. All he knew was that it muddled him, and that the dinner-bell hadn't been rung, nor the form carried in for prayers.

There was another idea came into his head, too, acting like so much leaven, or as an acid powder poured into the neutral alkaline solution already shaken up in his brain. There were those two waiters from Bunter's standing by when Mr Elbraham gave him the five-pound note, and one of them winked at the other. Joseph could not say that one of those young men took that five-pound note. He was not going so far as to say it. What he was going to say was that they weren't above taking two bottles of champagne back into the pantry and drinking them out of tumblers, and that a man who would take a bottle of wine that didn't belong to him might go so far as a five-pound note.

Joseph grew worse as the morning wore on. He felt as if he must go and quarrel with Markes, and a great deal of what he recalled after may have been nothing but the merest patchwork of nebulous theories of his own gathered together in a troublous time. For it was not likely that Captain Glen would have been standing holding Miss Ruth's hand, and making her blush, as he called her his dear child, and said she was the best and sweetest little thing he had ever met, and that he should never forget her kindness and sympathy.

Joseph certainly thought he heard Captain Glen say that, and he was near enough to have heard him say it; but he remembered afterwards that when he turned he caught sight of Mr Montaigne smiling in a peculiar way, but whether at him (Joseph), or at Captain Glen and Miss Ruth, he was not sure. It was a curious sort of smile, Joseph thought, exactly like that which Buddy's old horse gave, drawing back its teeth before it tried to bite, and it made Joseph shiver.

He might have been in everybody's way or he might not, but the Honourable Philippa said that he was to stop about and make himself useful, and of course he did; for if cook chose to give up her kitchen to a set of foreign chiefs--he meant _chefs_--he was not going to be ousted by Bunter's waiters, even if some of them were six feet high, and one of them looked like a n.o.bleman's butler. Miss Philippa said he was to make himself useful, and see that the visitors had plenty, and he did, though it was very funny to see how little some people took, though that wasn't the case with others.

It was while busying himself directly after the company had left the table that he came upon Captain Glen talking to Miss Ruth.

No, it wasn't Miss Ruth that time; it was Miss Marie. Yes, of course it was; and Captain Glen was saying:

"No, Marie; I hope I am too much of a man to break my heart about a weak, vain woman. You saw how I behaved this morning? Well, I behaved as I felt--a little hurt, but heart-whole. Poor foolish girl! I trust that she will be happy."

"I hope so, too," Marie had answered. "I am sorry, Captain Glen, and I am very glad."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I am sure that Clotilde would never have made you happy."

She gazed up at him in a curious way as she spoke, and it seemed to Joseph that Captain Glen looked puzzled and wondering. Then his face lit up, and he was going to speak to Miss Marie, when little Richard Millet came rushing up, saying:

"I say, Glen, hang it all! play fair. Don't monopolise the company of all the ladies. Miss Marie, may I have the pleasure?"

He offered his arm as if he were going to take her through some dance instead of from the big landing amongst the flowers into the drawing-room; but instead of taking the offered arm, Joseph seemed to see that Miss Marie bowed gravely, and, looking handsome and queen-like, laid her hand upon the arm of Lord Henry Moorpark, who, very quiet and grave, had been hovering about ever since they rose from the table.

Then the old gentleman had walked off with her, leaving little Mr Millet very cross, and it seemed to Joseph that he said something that sounded like a bar across a river, but whether it was weir or dam, Joseph's brains were too much confused to recall.

In fact, all this came out by degrees in the calm and solitude of his pantry, when he had recovered next day from a splitting headache; and then it was that he recalled how foolishly everybody behaved when Miss Clotilde--Mrs Elbraham, he meant--went off with her rich husband: how Miss Philippa wept upon her neck, and Miss Isabella trembled, and her hands shook, when she kissed the young wife; how Mr Montaigne seemed to bless her, and afterwards go and stand by Miss Ruth, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm, patting the hand at the same time in quite a fatherly way.

Lady Anna Maria Morton, too, was there, standing with that stuck-up Mr "Rawthur" Litton, and Miss Marie with Lord Henry, and Lady Littletown, who seemed to have the management of the whole business, with Captain Glen; and at last, after the Honourable Philippa had kissed Mrs Elbraham once again, and then nearly fainted in little d.i.c.k Millet's arms, the bride and bridegroom pa.s.sed on towards the carriage, while people began to throw white slippers at them, and shower handfuls of rice, some of which fell on the bride's bonnet and some upon the bridegroom, a good deal going down inside his coat-collar and some in his neck. But he went on smiling and bowing, and looking, Joseph thought, very much like a publican who had been dressed up in tight clothes, and then in consequence had burst into a profuse perspiration.

Glen was standing close by the carriage with a half-laugh upon his face as the bridegroom pa.s.sed, and Joseph thought he looked very tall and strong and handsome, and as if he would like to pitch Mr Elbraham into the middle of the fountain.

And then, just as they were getting into the carriage, it seemed to Joseph that Miss Clotilde--he meant Mrs Elbraham, the rich financier's wife--turned her head and looked at Captain Glen in a strange wild way, which made him turn aside and look at Miss Marie, when the bride went for the first time into a hysterical fit of sobbing as she was helped into the carriage, where Mr Elbraham followed her smiling red smiles.

The steps were rattled up, the door banged, the footman waited a moment as the chariot moved away; and then sprang up into the rumble beside Mrs Elbraham's maid, and away went the chariot as fast as four good post horses could take it towards London, bound for Charing Cross Station.

What took place at the private apartments afterwards Joseph did not know, for long before the chariot had reached Richmond, the honest serving-man's head was wedged in a corner between the press bedstead in the pantry and the wall, and his confused ideas had gone off into dreamland, apparently on the back of a snorting horse, bent on recovering a certain five-pound note which was required for tying up a white satin slipperful of rice, which had been emptied out of Mr Elbraham's gla.s.s into a Lincoln and Bennett hat.

End of Volume Two.

Volume 3, Chapter I. The Story.--Years Ago--(Continued).

GERTRUDE'S HUSBAND.

Meanwhile the days glided on so peacefully for John Huish and his wife, that it seemed to him as if at last the ghost which had haunted his life had been laid.

Sir Humphrey was spending the evening with them, and d.i.c.k was expected, as Gertrude was seated in her little drawing-room at the piano, singing one of the sad old melodies that pleased her uncle so well. Her husband was leaning on the instrument gazing down into her gentle eyes, as she looked up at him with her countenance full of the calm joy she felt in the presence of the man of her choice. He was strange at times, but that did not trouble her, for he was gentle and loving always, ready to humour her slightest whim, and kindness itself to the feeble old gentleman who loved to come and prattle and prose in their quiet little home.

"John," she whispered, as her fingers strayed over the keys, and her voice was rather sad.

"My darling," he said softly.

"Do you know what it is to feel so happy that it seems as if it could not last?"

"Yes," he said, bending lower over her; "I have felt so ever since the day when you consented to be my little wife, and still it lasts."

The piano was again going softly, and for the third time Gertrude sang, in a voice that lulled the old gentleman off to sleep, "Love's young dream."

"Let it be always 'Love's young dream,'" whispered Huish, as he sank down on one knee beside the music-stool. "Gertrude, darling, I am so happy that it is like being in a dream, one from which we will never let the world wake us with its troubles."

She let her head rest upon his shoulder, and her arm was thrown tightly round his neck.

"Yes," she whispered; "let us dream."

"Yes," he replied, "we two always. I can feel that here within these arms I hold all the world--that heaven has been so bounteous to me that I can never be sufficiently grateful, and--"

He rose quickly, for there was a step outside, and a servant entered.

"If you please, sir, there are two gentlemen want to see you downstairs."

Huish turned pale, for a strange sense of coming trouble flashed upon him.

"Did they send up their names?" he said, recovering himself.

"No, sir, only said would you be kind enough to step down, sir, without disturbing my mistress. It was something particular."

"Is anything wrong, John?" said Gertrude earnestly.

"Wrong? No, my dear, I hope not. Some bit of business: people for a subscription or something. I shall be back directly. Go on playing, or we shall wake your father."

She nodded and smiled as she resumed her seat at the piano; and as Huish went quietly out of the room, the sad strain of olden days his wife was playing seemed to grow more and more mournful when the notes were m.u.f.fled by the closed door.

"Where are the gentlemen, Jane?" he said quietly.

"In the dining-room, sir," said the girl, with a strange look; and as he entered she stood waiting on the mat.

One of the gas-burners was alight, and Huish started as, on entering the room, he found himself face to face with a dark, stern-looking man, and a policeman, who immediately placed his back against the door.

"Is anything the matter?" said Huish quickly.