Part 37 (1/2)

”When did he come--where has he been all this time?” asked Sybil.

”Oh, I do not know. He came down to see Sam the other day at our place. He seems to have taken to business. They talked about the Monroe doctrine and the Panama ca.n.a.l, and all kinds of things. Sam says somebody has died and left him money. Anyway, he seems a good deal interested in the ca.n.a.l.”

Mrs. Wyndham chatted on, planning with Sybil the details of the wedding.

The breakfast was to be at Sherwood, and there were not to be many people.

Indeed, the distance would keep many away, a fact for which no one of those princ.i.p.ally concerned was at all sorry. John Harrington, sweltering in the heat of New York, and busier than he had ever been in his life, received an engraved card to the effect that Mr. Thomas Sherwood requested the pleasure of Mr. Harrington's company at the marriage of his grandniece, Miss Sybil Brandon, to Mr. Ronald Surbiton, at Sherwood, on the 15th of August. There was also a note from Mrs. Wyndham, saying that she was staying at Sherwood, and that she hoped John would be able to come.

John had, of course, heard of the engagement, but he had not suspected that the wedding would take place so soon. In spite of his business, however, he determined to be present. A great change had come over his life since he had bid Joe good-by six months earlier. He had been called to London as he had expected, and had arrived there to find that Z was dead, and that he was to take his place in the council. The fiery old man had died very suddenly, having worked almost to his last hour, in spite of desperate illness; but when it was suspected that his case was hopeless, John Harrington was warned that he must be ready to join the survivors at once.

In the great excitement, and amidst the constant labor of his new position, the past seemed to sink away to utter insignificance. His previous exertions, the short sharp struggle for the senators.h.i.+p ending in defeat, the hopes and fears of ten years of a most active life, were forgotten and despised in the realization of what he had so long and so ardently desired, and now at last he saw that his dreams were no impossibility, and that his theories were not myths. But he knew also that, with all his strength and devotion and energy, he was as yet no match for the two men with whom he had to do. Their vast experience of men and things threw his own knowledge into the shade, and cool as he was in emergencies, he recognized that the magnitude of the matters they handled astonished and even startled him more than he could have believed possible. Years must elapse before he understood what seemed as plain as the day to them, and he must fight many desperate battles before he was their equal. But the determination to devote his life wholly and honestly to the one object for which a man should live had grown stronger than ever. In his exalted view the ideal republic a.s.sumed grand and n.o.ble proportions, and already overshadowed the whole earth with the glory of honor and peace and perfect justice. Before the advancing tide of a spotless civilization, all poverty, all corruption and filthiness, all crime, all war and corroding seeds of discord were swept utterly away and washed from the world, to leave only forever and ever the magnificent harmony of nations and peoples, wherein none of those vile, base, and wicked things should even be dreamed of, or so much as remembered.

He thought of Joe sometimes, wondering rather vaguely why she had acted as she had, and whether any other motive than pure sympathy with his work had made her resent so violently Vancouver's position towards him. It was odd, he thought, that an English girl should find such extreme interest in American political doings, and then the scene in the dim sitting-room during the ball came vividly back to his memory. It was not in his nature to fancy that every woman who was taken with a fit of coughing was in love with him, but the conviction formed itself in his mind that he might possibly have fallen in love with Joe if things had been different. As it was, he had put away such childish things, and meant to live out his years of work, with their failure or success, without love and without a wife.

He would always be grateful to Joe, but that would be all, and he would be glad to see her whenever an opportunity offered, just as he would be glad to see any other friend. In this frame of mind he arrived in Newport on the morning of the wedding, and reached the little church among the trees just in time to witness the ceremony.

It was not different from other weddings, excepting perhaps that the place where the High Church portion of Newport elects to wors.h.i.+p is probably smaller than any other consecrated building in the world. Every seat was crowded, and it was with difficulty that John could find standing room just within the door. The heat was intense, and the horses that stood waiting in the avenue, sweated in the sun as they fought the flies, and pawed the hard road in an agony of impatience.

Sybil was exquisitely lovely as she went by on old Mr. Sherwood's arm. The old gentleman had consented to a.s.sume a civilized garb for once in his life, and looked pleased with his aged self, as well he might be, seeing that the engagement had been made under his roof. Then Ronald pa.s.sed, paler than usual, but certainly the handsomest man present, carrying himself with a new dignity, as though he knew himself a better man than ever in being found worthy of his beautiful bride. It was soon over, and the crowd streamed out after the bride and bridegroom.

”Hallo, Harrington, how are you?” said Vancouver, overtaking John as he turned into the road. ”You had better get in with me and drive out. I have not seen you for an age.”

John stood still and surveyed Vancouver with a curiously calm air of absolute superiority.

”Thank you very much,” he answered civilly. ”I have hired a carriage to take me there. I dare say we shall meet. Good-morning.”

John had been to Sherwood some years before, but he was surprised at the change that had been wrought in honor of the marriage. The place looked inhabited, the windows were all open, and the paths had been weeded, though Sybil had not allowed the wild shrubbery to be pruned nor the box hedges to be trimmed. She loved the pathless confusion of the old grounds, and most of all she loved the dilapidated summer-house.

John shook hands with many people that he knew. Mrs. Wyndham led him aside a little way.

”Is it not just perfectly splendid?” she exclaimed. ”They are so exactly suited to each other. I feel as if I had done it all. You are not at all enthusiastic.”

”On the contrary,” said John, ”I am very enthusiastic. It is the best thing that could possibly have happened.”

”Then go and do likewise,” returned Mrs. Sam, laughing. Then she changed her tone. ”There is a young lady here who will be very glad to see you. Go and try and cheer her up a little, can't you?”

”Who is that?”

”A young lady over there--close to Sybil-dressed in white with roses.

Don't you see? How stupid you are! There--the second on the left.”

”Do you mean to say that is Miss Thorn?” exclaimed John in much surprise, and looking where Mrs. Sam directed him. ”Good Heavens! How she has changed!”

”Yes, she has changed a good deal,” said Mrs. Wyndham, looking at John's face.

”I hardly think I should have known her,” said John. ”She must have been very ill; what has been the matter?”

”The matter? Well, perhaps if you will go and speak to her, you will see what the matter is,” answered Mrs. Sam, enigmatically.

”What do you mean?” John looked at his companion in astonishment.