The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
which her presence gave him? Besides, it did not seem to him that the marriage he had in his mind was the same as that in the English churches. It might be legal, but there was something unreal, unstable about it, and who need know? A Scotch marriage! It appealed to him almost as a joke, while at the same time he knew it would satisfy this young girl's conscience. It would make her his wife. And so, although he had many doubts, he made his plans.
All through the night he lay thinking. He wished he had some of his law books with him, so that he could study the matter carefully, for he was strangely ignorant. No minister, no church, no documents, no witnesses—simply taking each other by the hand and declaring that he took her as his wife. It seemed so easy, and surely, surely——
He was not a bad young fellow, this Douglas Graham. Some spoke of him as a kind of dual personality, strong and weak at the same time—but he had never been known to do anything dishonourable, and his career at Oxford had been an unblemished one. To an extent he was cast in a religious mould, and was susceptible to religious influences. He had indeed been a communicant at a Presbyterian church, and thus, while determined to carve out for himself a great career, he always dreamed of acting honourably and conscientiously, and he would do so now, only—— And then he thought out the whole matter again. Yes, it did seem different from a marriage in an English church, but it would satisfy Jean, and it would be a real marriage.
Two days later he left the "Highlands," to walk to Carlisle, he said, and take the train from there. So, packing in his knapsack the absolute necessities of life, he took his departure from his relatives. He did not tell them what he had in his mind—did not give a hint that that afternoon he was to meet Jean Lindsay alone on the moors. He tried to appear calm, but his mind was full of the plans he had made, full of what Jean would say when he met her. Just as he was leaving "Highlands" a servant brought him a letter, but he was too excited to read it; he simply put it in his pocket with the thought that it could wait, and then, bidding his relatives farewell, he started on his walk.
Two hours later Jean and he were walking side by side away from her father's farm. "You are sure it is all right, Douglas?"
"Yes, sure."
"And you love me?"
"I love you more than my own life," he said, and into the girl's eyes came a look of infinite trust and infinite joy. She had no qualms about the Scotch marriage. She had heard of them again and again, and they were mere commonplaces to her. It did seem strange, walking away with him alone, but she had given him her heart's love, and she had a perfection of trust in him.
It was a strange experience, and Douglas Graham felt awed, as presently they took each other by the hand, and he said, "Jean Lindsay, I do here take you as my wife, and, God helping me, I will be a good and faithful husband to you."
The girl's eyes burned brightly with joy as she heard the words.
"Douglas Graham," she said, "I, Jean Lindsay, do take you as my husband, and, God helping me, I will love you and obey you and be faithful to you till death."
The sun was just setting, and the whole of the Western sky was ablaze with glory. The hills, heather-covered, were enveloped in a purple haze. The evening was windless; not a sound was heard; not a bird chirped; and no one was near. He kissed the girl fondly.
"There, Jean," he said, "I kiss you as my wife."
The girl sobbed for joy.
"I never knew what happiness meant before," she said; "but, but——"
"What?" he asked eagerly.
"Must there not be a word of prayer?" she said, and her voice shook with emotion.
The two knelt down by the roadside, and in the silence of the evening they asked fervently for God's blessing on their union.
When night came, they found themselves in the inn across the border where Douglas had parted from his companions, and then he remembered the letter which the servant had given him at "Highlands" just before he parted from the family. He had read only a few lines when he started and changed colour.
"What is it, Douglas?" asked the girl.
"It is all right," he said, but his voice was hoarse and troubled.
The following morning Douglas Graham parted from his newly-made wife at a railway station some distance from the inn.
"You are sure you must go?" she asked, and her voice was trembling.
"I simply must, Jean!" he replied. "But do not be afraid. I will be back in a few days. You can tell your father everything. In a month from now you shall be publicly proclaimed as my wife."
"I don't like letting you go!" sobbed the girl.
"I would give anything if I could stay, but I simply dare not—my whole future depends upon my going!"
The train swept into the station.
"Good-bye, Douglas, my husband!" she said. "You'll soon be back?"
"Good-bye, Jean, my wife! May God bless you! Yes, I'll soon be back."
CHAPTER I
A LEGACY OF HATE
Their meeting-place was on the Altarnun Moors, eight miles from the town of Bodmin, perhaps as many from the rugged peaks—the highest peaks in Cornwall—Router and Brown Willy. Almost as far as the eye could reach was bare moorland. A white streak, the road which ran between Altarnun and Bodmin, was the most striking thing seen. On either side of the road were only bare, uncultivated, uninteresting moors; and yet, perhaps, I do the district injustice. Here and there was a rugged tor, and again a few fields taken in from the moorland by some enterprising labourer who wanted to earn a living by farming. Near this road, too, is the famous Dozmary Pool, known to all those who love folk-lore and are acquainted with the legends of the most Western county in England—a dismal piece of water, black as ink, and, so the old stories have it, bottomless. It was here that Tregellas, of Cornish myth, was set by the Devil to scoop out its water by means of a limpet-shell. Here, too, in old times, coaches were robbed and dark deeds done. At the time of which I am writing, however, it was simply one of the most unattractive and bleak districts in what is otherwise perhaps the most beautiful county in England. The woman had walked all the way from Launceston, a distance of not less than a dozen miles. The youth had come from Bodmin, and he had covered nearly the same length of road. The afternoon was drawing to a close as they met. It was a November day, and darkness would be upon them by five o'clock. No one was near, for since the days of stage-coaches the traffic on this road has been small. Occasionally a farmer's cart passes along, or again a vehicle of more ornamental description, used by those who wish to travel either to Bodmin or to Launceston. There is no railway station within ten miles of that drear region, and it seemed a fitting meeting-place for the couple who came there that day. The woman was perhaps thirty-five years of age, and suggested the fact that in her girlhood she must have been strangely beautiful. Even yet there were times when one would have spoken of her as one possessing more than ordinary attraction. That was when her eyes became soft, and her features relaxed into a smile, but these times were very rare. As she trudged along the dreary road her face was set and stern, her lips were compressed, her eyes hard and relentless. As she passed through Five Lanes and asked for a cup of tea at a cottage there, the villagers remarked upon her and wondered who she was. "She might be a witch," said one.
"No, too young for that," said another.
"But where can she be goin'? She is a straanger in thaise paarts."
"Up to no good, I reckon."
But the woman gave no confidences. Evidently her purpose was clear