"Certainly," answered Mrs. Markham. "And we take him to our home and hearts as our true son."
Then all knelt, and the father"s voice in reverent prayer and thanksgiving, was for a moment lifted to the Great Father.
Later, they were quiet and happy, around a tea, or rather a supper table. But Bart toyed with his fork, and sparkled with happy, brilliant sallies. Julia watched him with real concern.
"Arthur," she said, "I am a woman; and a woman likes to see even her lover eat. It is the mother part, isn"t it, mamma?" blushing and laughing, "that likes to see children feed. Now he has not eaten a mouthful to-day; and I shall be anxious."
"For that matter he dined on a gill of milk, and one ounce of honey yesterday," said the Judge, "Don"t you ever eat?"
"And I shall shock him;" said Julia, "he will soon find that I am only common vulgar flesh and blood, to be fed and nourished."
"Don"t fear," said Bart; "I like a strong, healthy, deep chested woman, who can live and endure. I am not the least bit of a Byron. And now let me get used to this new heaven, into which you have just taken me; let my heart get steady, if it will, in its great happiness. Let me have some good runs in the woods, some good rows on the ponds, some hard gallops. Let me get tired, and I"ll astonish you with a famine."
"I shall be glad to see it," said Julia.
There came pleasant talk of trifles, that only lay about on the surface, and near the great joy of their new happiness; and little pleasantries of the Judge. He asked Julia, "how she liked the moustache, suggesting that it might be in the way.
"I like it," said Julia, "and it isn"t a bit in the way."
Then he referred to a certain other grave matter, and wanted to know when?
"That isn"t for you to ask, Papa Judge--is it, mamma?"
CHAPTER LII.
FINAL DREAM LAND.
Later still, when the elders had left the lovers to each other, Bart found himself reclining on the sofa, with his head in Julia"s lap. And those little rosy tipped fingers toyed caressingly with that coveted moustache, and were kissed for it, and went and did it again, and so on; and then tenderly with the long light brown wavy curls.
"Julia, these blessed moments of love and rest, though they run into days or weeks, will end."
"Arthur"--reproachfully.
"Time will not stand and leave us to float, and come and go on a sweet shaded river of delight; sometime I must go out to show that I am not unworthy of you, to find, and to make. You shall have your own sweet way, and will, and yet you will also--will you not?--tell me when this happiness shall be lost in the greater, merely that I may do my man"s part."
"Arthur, I take you at your word. My will is that for two blessed months, of which this shall not be counted as one day, for it must stand forever apart, you shall say nothing of books, or wanting them; or of business, or cases, or location, but shall stay with us, our mothers and father, with me, and run, and ride, and hunt, and fish, and grow strong, and eat, and I will let you go, and alone, when you wish; and at the end of two months, I will tell you when."
"And Arthur," stooping low over him, "a young girl"s heart and ways are curious, and not worth a man"s knowing, or thought, perhaps. Let me know you, let me be acquainted with you, and I would like you to know me also, though it may not repay you; and let me grow to be your wife. We have such funny notions, such weak girl ways and thoughts.
I have not had my lover a full day yet. A young girl wishes to be courted and sought, and made believe that she is supreme; and she likes to have her lover come at a set time, and sit and wait and think the clock has been turned back, and that he won"t come, and yet he must come, at the moment; and she will affect to have forgotten it.
She likes to be wooed with music, and flowers, and poetry, and to remain coy and only yield when her full heart had gone long before; and then to be engaged, and wear her ring, and be proud of her affianced, and to be envied--oh, it is a thousand, thousand times more to us than to you. It is our all, and we can enjoy it but once, and think what is lost out of the life of the young girl who has not enjoyed it at all. See, Arthur, what poor, petty, weak things we are, not worth the understanding, and not worth the winning, as we would be won."
Arthur had started up, and glided to the floor, on his knees, had clasped his hands about her slender waist, and was looking earnestly and tenderly into her coy, half-averted face, as, half seriously and half in badinage, she made her plaint.
"Oh, Julia!"
"Nay, Arthur, I like it as it is. It was in your nature to have known me, and to have courted me in the old way; but it would have been poor and tame, and made up of a few faded flowers and sc.r.a.ps of verses; and think what I have had--a daring hero between me and a wild beast--a brave, devoted and pa.s.sionate lover, who, in spite of scorn and rejection, hunted for me through night and tempest, to rescue me from death, who takes me up in his strong arms, carries me over a flood, and nourishes me back to life, and goes proudly away, asking nothing but the great boon of serving me. Oh! I had a thousand times rather have this! It is now a beautiful romance. But I am to have my ring, and"--
"Be my sweet and blessed sovereign lady; to be served and worshipped, and to hear music and poetry; whose word and wish is to be law in all the realm of love."
"From which you are not to depart for two full months of thirty-one days each."
Then she conducted him to the apartment in which we beheld her the night before.
"This," pushing open the door, into the room, warm and sweet with the odor of flowers, "is your own special room, to be yours, always."
"Always?" a little plaintively.
"Always--until--until--I--we give you another."
"Good night, Arthur."
"Good night, Julia."
She tripped down the hall, and turned her bright face to catch a kiss, and throw it back.
With a sweet unrest in her full heart, the young maiden on her couch, set herself to count up the gathered treasures of the wonderful day.
How was it? Did her riding skirt really get under her feet? Would he have caught her in his arms if she had not fallen? She thought he would.
And so she mused; and at last in slumber dreamed sweet maiden"s dreams of love and heaven.
And Bart found himself in a marvellous forest, wandering with Julia, wondrous in her fresh and tender beauty, on through endless glades, amid the gush of bird-songs, and the fragrance of flowers.
And there in the dream land whence I called them, I leave them. Why should I awake them again? For them can another day so bright and happy ever dawn? I who love them, could have kept them for a bright brief s.p.a.ce longer. I could have heard the sparkling voice of Bart, and the answering laugh of Julia--and then I should listen and not hear--look anxiously around and not see!
I part in real sorrow with these bright children of my fancy, sweet awakeners of old time memories, placed amid far off scenes, to win from others, tenderness and love if they may. And may they be remembered as forever lingering in perennial youth and love, in the land of dreams.