LOVE AND LAW.
On the morning of Monday, the 28th of July, Miss Gwilt--once more
on the watch for Allan and Neelie--reached her customary post of
observation in the park, by the usual roundabout way.
She was a little surprised to find Neelie alone at the place of
meeting. She was more seriously astonished, when the tardy Allan
made his appearance ten minutes later, to see him mounting the
side of the dell, with a large volume under his arm, and to hear
him say, as an apology for being late, that "he had muddled away
his time in hunting for the Books; and that he had only found
one, after all, which seemed in the least likely to repay either
Neelie or himself for the trouble of looking into it."
If Miss Gwilt had waited long enough in the park, on the previous
Saturday, to hear the lovers' parting words on that occasion, she
would have been at no loss to explain the mystery of the volume
under Allan's arm, and she would have understood the apology
which he now offered for being late as readily as Neelie herself.
There is a certain exceptional occasion in life--the occasion
of marriage--on which even girls in their teens sometimes become
capable (more or less hysterically) of looking at consequences.
At the farewell moment of the interview on Saturday, Neelie's
mind had suddenly precipitated itself into the future; and
she had utterly confounded Allan by inquiring whether the
contemplated elopement was an offense punishable by the Law?
Her memory satisfied her that she had certainly read somewhere,
at some former period, in some book or other (possibly a novel),
of an elopement with a dreadful end--of a bride dragged home in
hysterics--and of a bridegroom sentenced to languish in prison,
with all his beautiful hair cut off, by Act of Parliament, close
to his head. Supposing she could bring herself to consent to the
elopement at all--which she positively declined to promise--she
must first insist on discovering whether there was any fear of
the police being concerned in her marriage as well as the parson
and the clerk. Allan, being a man, ought to know; and to Allan
she looked for information--with this preliminary assurance to
assist him in laying down the law, that she would die of a broken
heart a thousand times over, rather than be the innocent means of
sending him to languish in prison, and of cutting his hair off,
by Act of Parliament, close to his head. "It's no laughing
matter," said Neelie, resolutely, in conclusion; "I decline even
to think of our marriage till my mind is made easy first on the
subject of the Law."
"But I don't know anything about the law, not even as much as
you do," said Allan. "Hang the law! I don't mind my head being
cropped. Let's risk it."
"Risk it?" repeated Neelie, indignantly. "Have you no
consideration for me? I won't risk it! Where there's a will,
there's a way. We must find out the law for ourselves."
"With all my heart," said Allan. "How?"
"Out of books, to be sure! There must be quantities of
information in that enormous library of yours at the great house.
If you really love me, you won't mind going over the backs of a
few thousand books, for my sake!"
"I'll go over the backs of ten thousand!" cried Allan, warmly.
"Would you mind telling me what I'm to look for?"
"For 'Law,' to be sure! When it says 'Law' on the back, open it,
and look inside for Marriage--read every word of it--and then
come here and explain it to me. What! you don't think your head
is to be trusted to do such a simple thing as that?"
"I'm certain it isn't," said Allan. "Can't you help me?"
"Of course I can, if you can't manage without me! Law may be
hard, but it can't be harder than music; and I must, and will,
satisfy my mind. Bring me all the books you can find, on Monday
morning--in a wheelbarrow, if there are a good many of them,
and if you can't manage it in any other way."
The result of this conversation was Allan's appearance in the
park, with a volume of Blackstone's Commentaries under his arm,
on the fatal Monday morning, when Miss Gwilt's written engagement
of marriage was placed in Midwinter's hands. Here again, in this,
as in all other human instances, the widely discordant elements
of the grotesque and the terrible were forced together by that
subtle law of contrast which is one of the laws of mortal life.
Amid all the thickening complications now impending over their
heads--with the shadow of meditated murder stealing toward one of
them already from the lurking-place that hid Miss Gwilt--the two
sat down, unconscious of the future, with the book between them;
and applied themselves to the study of the law of marriage, with
a grave resolution to understand it, which, in two such students,
was nothing less than a burlesque in itself!
"Find the place," said Neelie, as soon as they were comfortably
established. "We must manage this by what they call a division
of labor. You shall read, and I'll take notes."
She produced forthwith a smart little pocket-book and pencil,
and opened the book in the middle, where there was a blank page
on the right hand and the left. At the top of the right-hand page
she wrote the word _Good_. At the top of the left-hand page she
wrote the word _Bad_. "'Good' means where the law is on our
side," she explained; "and 'Bad' means where the law is against
us. We will have 'Good' and 'Bad' opposite each other, all down
the two pages; and when we get to the bottom, we'll add them up,
and act accordingly. They say girls have no heads for business.
Haven't they! Don't look at me--look at Blackstone, and begin."
"Would you mind giving one a kiss first?" asked Allan.
"I should mind it very much. In our serious situation, when we
have both got to exert our intellects, I wonder you can ask for
such a thing!"
"That's why I asked for it," said the unblushing Allan. "I feel
as if it would clear my head."
"Oh, if it would clear your head, that's quite another thing!
I must clear your head, of course, at any sacrifice. Only one,
mind," she whispered, coquettishly; "and pray be careful of
Blackstone, or you'll lose the place."
There was a pause in the conversation. Blackstone and the
pocket-book both rolled on the ground together.
"If this happens again," said Neelie, picking up the pocket-book,
with her eyes and her complexion at their brightest and best, "I
shall sit with my back to you for the rest of the morning. _Will_
you go on?"
Allan found his place for the second time, and fell headlong into
the bottomless abyss of the English Law.
"Page 280," he began. "Law of husband and wife. Here's a bit I
don't understand, to begin with: 'It may be observed generally
that the law considers marriage in the light of a Contract.' What
does that mean? I thought a contract was the sort of a thing a
builder signs when he promises to have the workmen out of the
house in a given time, and when the time comes (as my poor mother
used to say) the workmen never go."
"Is there nothing about Love?" asked Neelie. "Look a little lower
down."
"Not a word. He sticks to his confounded 'Contract' all the way
through."
"Then he's a brute! Go on to something else that's more in our
way."
"Here's a bit that's more in our way: 'Incapacities. If
any persons under legal incapacities come together, it is
a meretricious, and not a matrimonial union.' (Blackstone's
a good one at long words, isn't he? I wonder what he means by
meretricious?) 'The first of these legal disabilities is a prior
marriage, and having another husband or wife living--'"
"Stop!" said Neelie; "I must make a note of that." She gravely
made her first entry on the page headed "Good," as follows: "I
have no husband, and Allan has no wife. We are both entirely
unmarried at the present time."
"All right, so far," remarked Allan, looking over her shoulder.
"Go on," said Neelie. "What next?"
"'The next disability,'" proceeded Allan, "'is want of age. The
age for consent to matrimony is, fourteen in males, and twelve
in females.' Come!" cried Allan, cheerfully, "Blackstone begins
early enough, at any rate!"
Neelie was too business-like to make any other remark, on her
side, than the necessary remark in the pocket-book. She made
another entry under the head of "Good": "I am old enough to
consent, and so is Allan too. Go on," resumed Neelie, looking
over the reader's shoulder. "Never mind all that prosing of
Blackstone's, about the husband being of years of discretion,
and the wife under twelve. Abominable wretch! the wife under
twelve! Skip to the third incapacity, if there is one."
"'The third incapacity,'" Allan went on, "'is want of reason.'"
Neelie immediately made a third entry on the side of "Good":
"Allan and I are both perfectly reasonable. Skip to the next
page."
Allan skipped. "'A fourth incapacity is in respect of proximity
of relationship.'"
A fourth entry followed instantly on the cheering side of the
pocket-book: "He loves me, and I love him--without our being
in the slightest degree related to each other. Any more?" asked
Neelie, tapping her chin impatiently with the end of the pencil.
"Plenty more," rejoined Allan; "all in hieroglyphics. Look here:
'Marriage Acts, 4 Geo. IV., c. 76, and 6 and 7 Will. IV., c. 85
(_q_).' Blackstone's intellect seems to be wandering here. Shall
we take another skip, and see if he picks himself up again on the
next page?"
"Wait a little," said Neelie; "what's that I see in the middle?"
She read for a minute in silence, over Allan's shoulder, and
suddenly clasped her hands in despair. "I knew I was right!" she
exclaimed. "Oh, heavens, here it is!"
"Where?" asked Allan. "I see nothing about languishing in prison,
and cropping a fellow's hair close to his head, unless it's in
the hieroglyphics. Is '4 Geo. IV.' short for 'Lock him up'? and
does 'c. 85 (_q_)' mean, 'Send for the hair-cutter'?"
"Pray be serious," remonstrated Neelie. "We are both sitting on
a volcano. There," she said pointing to the place. "Read it! If
anything can bring you to a proper sense of our situation, _that_
will."
Allan cleared his throat, and Neelie held the point of her pencil
ready on the depressing side of the account--otherwise the "Bad"
page of the pocket-book.
"'And as it is the policy of our law,'" Allan began, "'to prevent
the marriage of persons under the age of twenty-one, without the
consent of parents and guardians'"--(Neelie made her first entry
on the side of "Bad!" "I'm only seventeen next birthday, and
circumstances forbid me to confide my attachment to papa")--"'it
is provided that in the case of the publication of banns of a
person under twenty-one, not being a widower or widow, who are
deemed emancipated'"--(Neelie made another entry on the
depressing side: "Allan is not a widower, and I am not a widow;
consequently, we are neither of us emancipated")--"'if the
parent or guardian openly signifies his dissent at the time the
banns are published'"--("which papa would be certain to do")--
"'such publication would be void.' I'll take breath here if
you'll allow me," said Allan. "Blackstone might put it in shorter
sentences, I think, if he can't put it in fewer words. Cheer up,
Neelie! there must be other ways of marrying, besides this
roundabout way, that ends in a Publication and a Void. Infernal
gibberish! I could write better English myself."
"We are not at the end of it yet," said Neelie. "The Void is
nothing to what is to come."
"Whatever it is," rejoined Allan, "we'll treat it like a dose
of physic--we'll take it at once, and be done with it." He went
on reading: "'And no license to marry without banns shall be
granted, unless oath shall be first made by one of the parties
that he or she believes that there is no impediment of kindred
or alliance'--well, I can take my oath of that with a safe
conscience! What next? 'And one of the said parties must, for the
space of fifteen days immediately preceding such license, have
had his or her usual place of abode within the parish or chapelry
within which such marriage is to be solemnized!' Chapelry! I'd
live fifteen days in a dog-kennel with the greatest pleasure.
I say, Neelie, all this seems like plain sailing enough. What
are you shaking your head about? Go on, and I shall see? Oh,
all right; I'll go on. Here we are: 'And where one of the said
parties, not being a widower or widow, shall be under the age of
twenty-one years, oath must first be made that the consent of the
person or persons whose consent is required has been obtained,
or that there is no person having authority to give such consent.
The consent required by this act is that of the father--'" At
those last formidable words Allan came to a full stop. "The
consent of the father," he repeated, with all needful seriousness
of look and manner. "I couldn't exactly swear to that, could I?"
Neelie answered in expressive silence. She handed him the
pocket-book, with the final entry completed, on the side of
"Bad," in these terms: "Our marriage is impossible, unless Allan
commits perjury."
The lovers looked at each other, across the insuperable obstacle
of Blackstone, in speechless dismay.
"Shut up the book," said Neelie, resignedly. "I have no doubt we
should find the police, and the prison, and the hair-cutting--all
punishments for perjury, exactly as I told you!--if we looked at
the next page. But we needn't trouble ourselves to look; we have
found out quite enough already. It's all over with us. I must go
to school on Saturday, and you must manage to forget me as soon
as you can. Perhaps we may meet in after-life, and you may be a
widower and I may be a widow, and the cruel law may consider us
emancipated, when it's too late to be of the slightest use.
By that time, no doubt, I shall be old and ugly, and you will
naturally have ceased to care about me, and it will all end in
the grave, and the sooner the better. Good-by," concluded Neelie,
rising mournfully, with the tears in her eyes. "It's only
prolonging our misery to stop here, unless--unless you have
anything to propose?"
"I've got something to propose," cried the headlong Allan. "It's
an entirely new idea. Would you mind trying the blacksmith at
Gretna Green?"
"No earthly consideration," answered Neelie, indignantly, "would
induce me to be married by a blacksmith!"
"Don't be offended," pleaded Allan; "I meant it for the best.
Lots of people in our situation have tried the blacksmith, and
found him quite as good as a clergyman, and a most amiable man,
I believe, into the bargain. Never mind! We must try another
string to our bow."
"We haven't got another to try," said Neelie.
"Take my word for it," persisted Allan, stoutly, "there must be
ways and means of circumventing Blackstone (without perjury), if
we only knew of them. It's a matter of law, and we must consult
somebody in the profession. I dare say it's a risk. But nothing
venture, nothing have. What do you say to young Pedgift? He's a
thorough good fellow. I'm sure we could trust young Pedgift to
keep our secret."
"Not for worlds!" exclaimed Neelie. "You may be willing to trust
your secrets to the vulgar little wretch; I won't have him
trusted with mine. I hate him. No!" she concluded, with a
mounting color and a peremptory stamp of her foot on the grass.
"I positively forbid you to take any of the Thorpe Ambrose people
into your confidence. They would instantly suspect me, and it
would be all over the place in a moment. My attachment may be an
unhappy one," remarked Neelie, with her handkerchief to her eyes,
"and papa may nip it in the bud, but I won't have it profaned by
the town gossip!"
"Hush! hush!" said Allan. "I won't say a word at Thorpe Ambrose,
I won't indeed!" He paused, and considered for a moment. "There's
another way!" he burst out, brightening up on the instant. "We've
got the whole week before us. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll go
to London!"
There was a sudden rustling--heard neither by one nor the
other--among the trees behind them that screened Miss Gwilt. One
more of the difficulties in her way (the difficulty of getting
Allan to London) now promised to be removed by an act of Allan's
own will.
"To London?" repeated Neelie, looking up in astonishment.
"To London!" reiterated Allan. "That's far enough away from
Thorpe Ambrose, surely? Wait a minute, and don't forget that this
is a question of law. Very well, I know some lawyers in London
who managed all my business for me when I first came in for this
property; they are just the men to consult. And if they decline
to be mixed up in it, there's their head clerk, who is one of
the best fellows I ever met with in my life. I asked him to go
yachting with me, I remember; and, though he couldn't go, he said
he felt the obligation all the same. That's the man to help us.
Blackstone's a mere infant to him. Don't say it's absurd; don't
say it's exactly like _me_. Do pray hear me out. I won't breathe
your name or your father's. I'll describe you as 'a young lady
to whom I am devotedly attached.' And if my friend the clerk
asks where you live, I'll say the north of Scotland, or the west
of Ireland, or the Channel Islands, or anywhere else you like.
My friend the clerk is a total stranger to Thorpe Ambrose and
everybody in it (which is one recommendation); and in five
minutes' time he'd put me up to what to do (which is another). If
you only knew him! He's one of those extraordinary men who appear
once or twice in a century--the sort of man who won't allow you
to make a mistake if you try. All I have got to say to him
(putting it short) is, 'My dear fellow, I want to be privately
married without perjury.' All he has got to say to me (putting it
short) is, 'You must do so-and-so and so-and-so, and you must be
careful to avoid this, that, and the other.' I have nothing
in the world to do but to follow his directions; and you have
nothing in the world to do but what the bride always does
when the bridegroom is ready and willing!" His arm stole round
Neelie's waist, and his lips pointed the moral of the last
sentence with that inarticulate eloquence which is so uniformly
successful in persuading a woman against her will.
All Neelie's meditated objections dwindled, in spite of her, to
one feeble little question. "Suppose I allow you to go, Allan?"
she whispered, toying nervously with the stud in the bosom of
his shirt. "Shall you be very long away?"
"I'll be off to-day," said Allan, "by the eleven o'clock train.
And I'll be back to-morrow, if I and my friend the clerk can
settle it all in time. If not, by Wednesday at latest."
"You'll write to me every day?" pleaded Neelie, clinging a little
closer to him. "I shall sink under the suspense, if you don't
promise to write to me every day."
Allan promised to write twice a day, if she liked--letter-
writing, which was such an effort to other men, was no effort
to _him_!
"And mind, whatever those people may say to you in London,"
proceeded Neelie, "I insist on your coming back for me. I
positively decline to run away, unless you promise to fetch me."
Allan promised for the second time, on his sacred word of honor,
and at the full compass of his voice. But Neelie was not
satisfied even yet. She reverted to first principles, and
insisted on knowing whether Allan was quite sure he loved her.
Allan called Heaven to witness how sure he was; and got another
question directly for his pains. Could he solemnly declare that
he would never regret taking Neelie away from home? Allan called
Heaven to witness again, louder than ever. All to no purpose! The
ravenous female appetite for tender protestations still hungered
for more. "I know what will happen one of these days," persisted
Neelie. "You will see some other girl who is prettier than I am;
and you will wish you had married her instead of me!"
As Allan opened his lips for a final outburst of asseveration,
the stable clock at the great house was faintly audible in the
distance striking the hour. Neelie started guiltily. It was
breakfast-time at the cottage--in other words, time to take
leave. At the last moment her heart went back to her father;
and her head sank on Allan's bosom as she tried to say, Good-by.
"Papa has always been so kind to me, Allan," she whispered,
holding him back tremulously when he turned to leave her. "It
seems so guilty and so heartless to go away from him and be
married in secret. Oh, do, do think before you really go to
London; is there no way of making him a little kinder and juster
to _you_?" The question was useless; the major's resolutely
unfavorable reception of Allan's letter rose in Neelie's memory,
and answered her as the words passed her lips. With a girl's
impulsiveness she pushed Allan away before he could speak, and
signed to him impatiently to go. The conflict of contending
emotions, which she had mastered thus far, burst its way outward
in spite of her after he had waved his hand for the last time,
and had disappeared in the depths of the dell. When she turned
from the place, on her side, her long-restrained tears fell
freely at last, and made the lonely way back to the cottage the
dimmest prospect that Neelie had seen for many a long day past.
As she hurried homeward, the leaves parted behind her, and Miss
Gwilt stepped softly into the open space. She stood there in
triumph, tall, beautiful, and resolute. Her lovely color
brightened while she watched Neelie's retreating figure hastening
lightly away from her over the grass.
"Cry, you little fool!" she said, with her quiet, clear tones,
and her steady smile of contempt. "Cry as you have never cried
yet! You have seen the last of your sweetheart."