Even after she had left the motor, and walked down the stone paving, leading from Bishopsgate to the main entrance of St. Botolph"s, she paused, watching the sparrows and pigeons at the fountain, in the garden enclosure--now very bare and leafless--opposite the church. Here she waited until she heard the strains of organ music within. Then she pushed open the door, and entered.
Once inside, a sudden feeling of awe and hesitancy overwhelmed Diana.
There seemed an unusual brooding sense of sanct.i.ty about this old church. All light, which entered there, filtered devoutly through some sacred scene, and still bore upon its beams the apostle"s halo, the Virgin"s robe, or the radiance of transfiguration glory.
The shock of contrast, as Diana pa.s.sed from the noise and whirl of Bishopsgate"s busy traffic into this silent waiting atmosphere of stained gla.s.s, old oak carving, and the sheen of the distant altar, held her senses for a moment in abeyance.
Then she took in every detail: Mr. Goldsworthy peeping from the vestry, catching sight of her, and immediately proceeding within the communion rails, and kneeling at the table; Mrs. Vane and Mr. Inglestry on one side of the church; Sarah and Sir Deryck, in different pews, on the other. Lastly, she saw David, and the place at his side which awaited her; David, looking very slim and youthful, standing with his left hand plunged deep into the pocket of his short coat--a boyish att.i.tude he often unconsciously adopted in moments of nervous strain. Slight and boyish he looked in figure; but the intellectual strength and spiritual power in the thin face had never been more apparent to Diana than at this moment, as he stood with his head slightly thrown back, awaiting her advance.
Then a complete mental readjustment came to Diana. How could she go through with this marriage, for which she herself had worked and schemed? It suddenly stood revealed as a thing so much more sacred, so far more holy, so infinitely deeper in its significance, than she had ever realised.
She knew, now, why David had felt it impossible, at first, for any reasons save the one paramount cause--the reverent seeking of the Church"s sanction and blessing upon the union of two people who needed one another utterly.
Had she loved David--had David loved her--she could have moved swiftly to his side, without a shade of hesitancy.
As it was, her feet seemed to refuse to carry her one step forward.
Then Diana realised that had this ceremony been about to take place in order that the benefits accruing to her under her uncle"s will should remain hers, she must, at that moment, have fled back to the motor, bidding the chauffeur drive off--anywhere, anywhere--where she would never see St. Botolph"s church again, or look upon the face of David Rivers.
But, by the happenings of the previous evening, the conditions were changed--ah, thank G.o.d, they were changed! David still thought he was doing this for her; but she knew she was doing it for him. He believed he gave her all. She knew he actually gave her nothing, save this honest desire to give her all. And, in return, she could give him much:--not herself--_that_ he did not want--but much, oh, much!
All this pa.s.sed through Diana"s mind, in those few moments of paralysing indecision, while she stood, startled and unnerved, beneath the gallery.
Then, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, David"s look reached her--reached her, and called her to his side.
And down from the organ-loft wafted the prayer for all uncertain souls: "Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom; lead Thou--lead Thou--lead Thou me on."
With this prayer on her lips, and her eyes held by the summons in David"s, Diana moved up the church, and took her place at his side.
No word of the service penetrated her consciousness, until she heard her G.o.d-father"s voice inquire, in confidential tones: "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
No one replied. Apparently no one took the responsibility of giving her to David, to whom she did not really give herself. But in the silence of the slight pause following the question, Uncle Falcon"s voice said, with startling clearness, in her ear: "_Diana--I have won_."
This inarticulate sentence seemed to Diana the clearest thing in the whole of that service. She often wondered afterwards why all actual spoken words had held so little conscious meaning. She could recall the strong clasp of David"s hand, and when his voice, steadfast yet quiet, said: "I will," she looked at him and smiled; simply because his voice seemed the only real and natural thing in the whole service.
When they walked up the chancel together, and knelt at the altar rail, she raised her eyes to the pictured presentment of the crucified Christ; but there was something too painful to be borne, in the agony of that suffering form as pictured there. "Myrrh!" cried her troubled heart; "myrrh, was _His_ final offering. Must gold and frankincense always culminate in myrrh?"
In the vestry, Sir Deryck Brand was the first to offer well-expressed congratulations. But, after the signing of the registers, as he took her hand in his in bidding her farewell, he said with quiet emphasis: "I have told your husband, Mrs. Rivers, that he must come home within the year."
Diana, at a loss what to answer, turned to David.
"Do you hear that, David?"
"Yes," said David, gently; "I hear."
As they pa.s.sed out together, her hand resting lightly on David"s arm, Diana looked up and saw above the organ gallery, between the golden pipes, the beautiful stained-gla.s.s window, representing the Infant Christ brought by His mother to the temple, and taken into the arms of the aged Simeon.
"Oh, look, David," whispered Diana; "I like this window better than the others. It does not give us our Wise Men from the East, but it gives us the new-born King. Do you see Him in the arms of Simeon?"
David lifted his eyes; and suddenly she saw the light of a great joy dawn in them.
"Yes," he said, "yes. And do you remember what Simeon said?"
They had reached the threshold of St. Botolph"s. Diana took her hand from his coat sleeve; and, pausing a moment, looked into his face.
"What did he say, David?"
"Lord, _now_ lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," replied David, quietly.
"And what have you just remembered, David, which has filled your face with glory?"
"That this afternoon, I start for Central Africa," replied David Rivers, as he put his bride into the motor.
CHAPTER XVIII
DAVID"S NUNC DIMITTIS
The doctor was responsible for Diana"s shyness during the drive from St.
Botolph"s to Waterloo.
He had said: "I have told your husband, Mrs. Rivers." This was unlike Sir Deryck"s usual tact. It seemed so impossible that that dream-like service had transformed her from _Miss_ Rivers, into _Mrs._ Rivers; and it was so very much calling "a spade a spade," to speak of David as "your husband."
The only thing which as yet stood out clearly to Diana in the whole service, was David"s resolute "I will"; and the essential part of David"s "I will," in his own mind, and therefore of course in hers, appeared to be: "I will go at once to Central Africa; and I will start for that distant spot in four hours" time!"
Diana took herself instantly to task for the pang she had experienced at sight of the sudden flash of intense relief in David"s eyes, as he quoted the Nunc Dimittis.
That he should "depart" on the wedding-day, had been an indispensable factor in the making of her plan; and, that he should depart "in peace,"
untroubled by the fact that he was leaving her, was surely a cause for thanksgiving, rather than for regret.
Diana, who prided herself upon being far removed from all ordinary feminine weaknesses and failings, now rated herself scornfully for the utter unreasonableness of feeling hurt at David"s very obvious relief over the prospect of a speedy departure, now he had faithfully fulfilled the letter of the undertaking between them. He had generously done as she had asked, at the cost of much preliminary heart-searching and perplexity; yet she, whose express stipulation had been that he should go, now grudged the ease with which he was going, and would have had him a little sad--a little sorry.
"Oh," cried Diana, giving herself a mental shake, "it is unreasonable; it is odious; it is like an ordinary woman! I don"t want the poor boy to stay, so why should I want him to regret going? How perfectly natural that he should be relieved that this complicated time is over; and how glad _I_ ought to be, that whatever else connected with me he has found difficult, at all events he finds it easy to leave me! Any mild regrets would spoil the whole thing, and reduce us to the level of an ordinary couple. Sir Deryck"s remark in the vestry was most untactful. No wonder it has had the immediate effect of making us both realise with relief that, excepting in outward seeming, we each leave the church as free as when we entered it."
Yet, undoubtedly David _was_ now her husband; and as Diana sat silently beside him, she felt as an experienced fighter might feel, who had handed over all his weapons to the enemy. What advantage would David take, of this new condition of things, during the four hours which remained to him? She felt defenceless.
Diana plunged both her hands into her m.u.f.f. If David took one of them, there was no knowing what might happen next. She remembered the compelling power of his eyes, as they drew her up the church, to take her place at his side. How would she feel, what would she do, if he turned and looked so, at her--now?
But David appeared to be quite intent on the sights of London, eagerly looking his last upon each well-known spot.
"I am glad this is a hired motor," he said, "and not your own chauffeur.
This fellow does not drive so rapidly. One gets a chance to look out of the window. Ah, here is the Bank of England. I have never felt much interest in that. But I like seeing the Royal Exchange, because of the Prince Consort"s text on the marble slab, high up in the centre of its facade."
They were held up for a moment in the stream of cross-traffic.