"You will not refuse--to let them help you, to let them look after you?"

pleaded Celia.

"No," replied Miriam, with a bitter laugh. "I'll take their charity thankfully enough. It's part of my punishment, I suppose. But I want to go at once. You seem to pity me----"

"Oh, Lady Heyton!"

"Then help me to get away. Send a telegram to my people to say that I am coming; tell Marie to pack----"

"Yes," said Celia, feeling that Miriam had decided on the best course.

"I will see to everything. Will you lie down and rest, while I get everything ready?"

"Rest!" echoed Miriam, bitterly. "There cannot be a moment's rest for me while I am in this house. I have lain awake listening, listening----" She shuddered. "Go now. I'd try to thank you, if I could.

You've been kind to me--Derrick's wife!" She pushed Celia from her and rose unsteadily. "Oh, go; I'm grateful, but the sight of you reminds me----"

With the tears running down her cheeks, Celia left her, to find Marie and send off the telegram.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

In the matter of an early marriage, both Derrick's father and he whom we have known as the Marquess, were on Derrick's side; indeed, the sick man was, if possible, more anxious than the others that the wedding should take place without delay.

"I want everything settled before--before I go, Wilfred," he said.

"Something of the burden on my mind--not all! Ah, not all--will be lifted, if I can know that I shall, under Providence, leave the succession settled. You and I are old men, Wilfred--I am very near the grave. It is our duty to see, as far as lies within our power, that the future of the house is set upon a sound foundation. Your son, Derrick, will be a worthy successor; Celia--I need say nothing in her praise; she has won all our hearts, and she will lend a l.u.s.tre to the t.i.tle that will come to her."

A fortnight is not a long time in which to prepare the trousseau of a future Marchioness; but, with Lady Gridborough's enthusiastic a.s.sistance, Celia did her best; though, it must be confessed, she did not attach so much importance to this matter of the trousseau as it usually demands and receives from the bride elect; in fact, though Lady Gridborough has been described as an a.s.sistant, she bore the lion's share of the business, while Celia, as Lady Gridborough expressed it, in homely language, "gadded about, and mooned" with her lover.

She wanted a quiet wedding, but the church was full, and some ardent spirits had insisted upon decorating it, and an avenue of children, clothed in white and armed with flower blossoms to throw upon the pathway of the bride. Reggie was best man; and, consciously or unconsciously, had the air of one who had brought about the whole affair.

"If you had fixed the date a day later," he confided to Derrick, as he helped him into the regulation frock coat, and impressed upon him the solemn fact that the wedding ring was in the right-hand pocket of his waistcoat, "you'd have had to find another best man; for Susie and I are going to be married to-morrow at a quiet little church not a hundred miles from here. Ours is going to be really a quiet wedding: bride and bridegroom; parson, pew-opener and perhaps two sniffling children. We are going straight to France; address uncertain. And we're going to live there--that's one of the advantages of my profession, one of the precious few advantages; you can carry it on anywhere."

"I'm glad," said Derrick, as he wrung Reggie's hand. "No wonder you look so happy to-day: and I thought it was on my account!"

"So it is--partly," said Reggie. "You see, you're filling the bill so eminently satisfactorily. Between you and me, it isn't often that the hero in real life--in real life and out of fiction, mind you!--finishes up the last chapter looking absurdly happy in a frock coat and lavender trousers. You're the most satisfying 'hero' I've ever met with. And as to the bride--well, you wouldn't be married this morning, old chap, if I sat down right here and told you what I think of her."

"But you've told me already," said Derrick, laying his hand on Reggie's shoulder and shaking him affectionately.

To Lady Gridborough's intense satisfaction and delight, the sun shone brightly on Celia who, as the oldest inhabitant declared, was the most beautiful bride that had ever stood before the altar of the old church.

One wedding is monotonously similar to another; and on this occasion there was nothing to distinguish Derrick's and Celia's, save the fact that the bridegroom had only just been acquitted of a criminal charge and had been discovered to be the heir to a marquisate; but the crowd which filled the church and gathered outside, felt these facts to be important ones, and they cheered the bride and bridegroom as they emerged from the church, husband and wife.

In the circ.u.mstances, it was not possible that there should be any festivities at the Hall--they would come later, all felt, when the happy couple returned from their honeymoon. There was an affecting scene when Derrick and Celia stood beside the bed of the injured man. But as he took Derrick's hand, and signed to Celia to bend down that he might kiss her, there was, plainly, an expression of relief in the dying man's wasted face. The great wrong had been set right; the elder brother restored to his own, his son, this handsome, erect young fellow, with the frank and honest eyes, established, or on the way to being established, as the heir.

The old man, lying there, a statesman and an aristocrat, recognized the responsibilities of his position, all that was due to the great family of which he had supposed himself the head; and that due was now being paid. As he blessed them both, his hand sought that of his elder brother, whom he had put in his proper place, and his eyes turned affectionately, restfully, to his.

Of course, Lady Gridborough and Reggie had been invited to the breakfast, which was disposed of somewhat hurriedly; for there was a train to catch. There were no speeches; they were not necessary; Lady Gridborough did most of the talking, breaking off now and then, sometimes to smile happily at Derrick and Celia, at others to wipe her eyes; for Lady Gridborough, at a wedding, was always hovering between smiles and tears.

They gathered in the hall, waiting for Celia to appear in her travelling dress; and presently she came down, radiant, blushing; but, before she went to her husband, she drew Reggie aside.

"I want to ask you to take a message from me to Susie," she whispered.

"Tell her that I saw her in the church this morning; tell her that I shall always love her, and that some time--before long, I hope--we shall meet." Reggie, very red, and looking very happy, nodded. "And will you give her this as a wedding present?"

He opened the small case she slipped into his hand, and saw a pendant in the form of a ruby heart set round with diamonds. It was not a very costly gift, though doubtless it would seem so in Susie's eyes. But Reggie understood all it meant; the emblem of affection, warm and glowing; and again he could only nod.

Derrick's last word was with his father. The two men stood, with hands enclasped, looking at each other in a mute exchange of affection and trust.

"You will not be away too long?" said the father. "You are needed here."

He glanced upwards towards his brother's room. "And I need you too, Derrick--my son that was lost and is found." He paused, then he added, "Tell her that it shall rest with her."

Derrick gave the hand a pressure of comprehension.

As the carriage was starting, Celia's eyes wandered over the group gathered to see them off: Mrs. Dexter, as well as Lady Gridborough, between tears and smiles. Mr. Douglas, holding back Roddy, who was making frantic efforts to follow the carriage; but Derrick's eyes were fixed on his father.

In due course--how ecstatically happy was that course!--Derrick and Celia reached the ranch. On the steps stood Donna Elvira, his mother, awaiting them, with a kind of proud patience. She had drawn herself up to her full height, was evidently fighting for self-composure; but, at the sight of her son, her hauteur melted, and, with a cry, she clasped him in her arms; but, the next moment, with a Spanish courtesy which swiftly melted to tenderness, she turned to the rather pale and trembling girl, and embraced her. With a hand of each in hers, she drew them into the house. There are moments too sacred for intrusion; such moments were those which pa.s.sed between these three. At first sight, the Donna's heart had gone out to her son's beautiful young wife; and it was with a sigh that she said, after much talk had pa.s.sed between them,

"Yes, you must not forget, dearest child, that you have a mother, and another home, here in the South. You will come sometimes? And for a long visit? The journey is so short nowadays, is it not? You will not forget altogether the lonely woman who has found a son--and a daughter?"

It was not until he and his mother were alone together that Derrick delivered his father's message; and he did so gently, tenderly, with his hand laid in hers. Donna Elvira was silent for a long time; then she said, in a low voice,

"We will leave it to time, Derrick. You say, in your language, that Time heals all things. And the wound is now almost healed. We will wait----Yes, we will leave it to time."

And with that Derrick had to be satisfied.

It was towards the close of their stay at the ranch that Derrick received a letter from his father containing the news of the death of him who had been known so long to the world as the Marquess of Sutcombe.

The last days of the stricken man had pa.s.sed in peacefulness and forgetfulness. He had never spoken of his son, had seemed to remember nothing of the terrible tragedy which had cast its shadow over all their lives; all his conscious thought had been of the brother whose place he had usurped, at first innocently, but whom now he had restored to his own. The letter closed with a hint that Derrick's father found the responsibility of his t.i.tles and honours somewhat hard to bear; and Derrick knew that the old man needed him.

This letter brought their visit--already a long one--to an end, and Derrick and Celia started for home. Nothing shall be said of their reception; indeed, the most eloquent pen could not attempt to vie with the glowing periods in which the great event was enshrined in the columns of the local paper; suffice it that, after a progress through many triumphal arches, much cheering; some speechifying on the part of Derrick--which was by no means particularly happy but was received with delirious enthusiasm--the carriage conveyed them to the Hall, where Derrick's father and Celia's old friend stood, leaning on his stick, and awaited them.

"Thank G.o.d you've come back, Derrick!" said his father, fervently. "You and Celia are wanted here, very badly. You see," he added, with a touch of pathos, "I have been away from all this so long, I am so unused to everything----My dear, will you believe me"--he turned to Celia with a smile that had not a little pathos in it--"I sometimes long for the quietude, the--the bareness of 'The Jail'!"

"I know," said Celia in a low voice, and with a glance at Derrick beside her.

For she and Derrick, on their way home, had stopped for a night in London and had gone back to "The Jail." They had slept in her old room, and they had stood, hand in hand, in his, where first they had met, where she had come to him, an angel of rescue.

There were festivities enough now and to spare. The whole place seemed permeated by their happiness, and Derrick was wondering how long the rollicking would last and when he should be able to take up the duties which devolved upon him. One evening it chanced that he and Celia were walking through the village, on their way from Lady Gridborough's, engaged in earnest converse about those same duties; and, in the middle of a sentence, Celia broke off, and, catching at his arm, exclaimed,

"Derrick! Oh, Derrick, look!"

Derrick followed the direction of her eyes, and saw a huge tent with a number of persons bustling about it. It was a circus tent; and, moreover, it was Bloxford's Mammoth Circus itself. He stopped and stared; then he laughed.

"Why, it's old Bloxford!" he cried, brightly. "Celia, this is a piece of luck. Think of his coming here--here, of all places! By George! how glad I shall be to see him; and I've an idea he'll be glad to see me! We'll go--no, not now"--stopping short--"I'll go to the show to-night."

"You'll take me, Derrick?" she said, eagerly. "I want to see him so badly."

Restraining the desire to go there and then, they had an early dinner and, on foot, made their way to the circus. The tent was crammed; the performance had just begun; Derrick and Celia got seats in the best part, and, exchanging glances of pleasure, they looked on. The whole company was there in force; and when Isabel rode into the ring on her black charger, Celia pressed Derrick's arm and whispered enthusiastically,