The Heather-Moon
I've no pride left!--he might come back. I believe he'd be glad to come
back, for we loved each other dearly before you parted us!"
"That is true," said Barrie; "if I marry some one else he will
be--released. I didn't know what trouble I was making for him."
"No, you didn't know, of course, for _he_ couldn't tell you," Aline
agreed. "But now you do know. Oh, the only way, if Ian is to be made
happy again in spite of himself, is for you to marry Basil. Think how
happy you will make him too! And Barbara. Every one will be happy, and
all through you."
"I'll see Basil and talk to him," said Barrie.
"You _will_? You little angel! But I must see him first and prepare him.
Are you going to do what we all want? Even Ian wants it at heart, though
he doesn't know it yet, for it would be such a relief for him to feel
you were all right, and he--could go back to--old times."
"I'd marry Basil to-morrow, if I could," Barrie replied.
"Perhaps you can," Aline said, radiant, drying her tears.
* * * * *
Basil persuaded himself that he would have been less than man if he
refused to accept his happiness, even though he could have wished it to
come to him spontaneously. But nothing, as Aline anxiously reminded him,
can be ideal in this world. And it wasn't as if it were certain that
Somerled would have married the girl if they had been let alone.
"We shall never know now what he _would_ have done," she said, "and I
for one don't want to know. I want to know only what he will _do_. Even
if he has been a little--infatuated, why, you told me yourself that
hearts are often caught in the rebound. I shall try so hard."
"But you are going away with us!" Basil said quickly. "You must."
"Oh, I will. I wouldn't trust you alone--to keep Barrie. But afterward I
shall write him a letter. Such a letter! Of course, we've all three
quite decided now" (it was she, and Basil reluctantly, who had decided)
"merely to tell him that we're obliged to take Barrie back to her
mother; that Mrs. Bal would hear of nothing else. And it won't be a lie,
because as soon as you're married, you will take her to see Barbara.
Morgan Bennett will be gone, so Mrs. Bal won't mind--much. Have you
decided where the wedding is to be?"
"Gretna Green," Basil answered with such prompt decision that Aline was
surprised.
"Why Gretna Green? It's such a long way," she objected, impatient for
the afterward, which was to be her reward. "I thought one place was as
good as another in Scotland nowadays, and that----"
"I've a special reason for wanting to be married to Barrie at Gretna
Green," said Basil, almost fiercely. "For one thing, she's told me that
it used to be a dream of hers. For another----"
"For another?"
"No matter. Only a fancy of mine--to rub out the recollection of
something I don't like. Of course, if Barrie objects--but I hope she
won't."
Barrie did not object in words. Only her heart rebelled. But her one
great wish was to put her heart to sleep. And nothing else mattered.
Nothing else must matter now.
IV
BARRIE WRITES AGAIN
This never was a story. I wrote things down, to please myself, just as
they happened. But now that the end of the heather moon has come, I must
write of its last days. I think by and by I shall send all this to Mrs.
James, in California, otherwise she will never understand how everything
came about; and besides, if it hadn't been for her the end would have
been very different.
This part will have to be a sort of confession. When I began to write, I
used not to say much about my feelings, even when I was sure of them,
which was seldom; but I see now that I fell in love with my knight the
minute I saw him first. I must have been fascinated, or it would not
have occurred to me to choose him as the man to buy my brooch. I might
have spoken to some one else. By the time we started on our trip and got
as far as Gretna Green, I _worshipped_ him. That is why I was so happy.
I never troubled then about what the end would be. I just gave myself up
to being happy, and it seemed as if such happiness must last forever. I
used to wonder why I wasn't more impatient to get to Edinburgh and see
my mother--the one thing I started out to do. But it was because I'd
fallen in love with my knight, and he was already more important for me
than any one else in the world, more important even than Barbara.
Soon I began to suspect what was happening; and in Edinburgh I was
quite, _quite_ sure. But I wasn't any longer perfectly happy. There were
clouds over the heather moon--that sweet, kind moon which I used to say
was the best of the year for falling in love.
I stopped writing then, for if I had written it would have had to be all
about my feelings. The world was full of them. They were like gulls
wheeling round a lighthouse lamp; and my heart was the lamp.
I thought, in Edinburgh, that my knight didn't care for me as I did for
him. He kept away, and let other men go with me everywhere. Now I
understand why, but then it made me miserable, for I knew he was the One
Man, and always would be. A girl who had once loved him could never look
at any one else. There were other things too that made me sad. Nobody
wanted me. People were always planning how to send me away: but the
heather moon shone in spite of all, and each evening when she came up,
out of the mysterious places where she hides, she seemed to say:
"Courage. Have faith in me. Don't lose hope, and I'll show you yet where
to find the rainbow key." So I wouldn't lose hope; and I felt rewarded
when my knight asked me to write to him, and promised that by and by I
should see him again.
Then a letter came, and though I couldn't think why he had gone back to
Carlisle to call on Grandma, I felt it must be for a reason connected
with me; and that was cheering--just to know that I was in his mind.
About London--when he went there afterward--I wasn't so sure. But it was
the happiest day in my life when he suddenly appeared at Ballachulish.
He came just in time, it seemed, to save me as he had saved me before. I
could hardly keep from showing how I adored him. As he had come such a
long way and had done so much for my sake, I thought that perhaps after
all he did care, though it seemed too wonderful to be true. Now and
then, while we were waiting to hear what Barbara would say about the
invitation to Dhrum, there was a look in his eyes that made me feel the
heather moon had been my true friend. He was changed, too, not hard and
cynical as he used to be, but kind and gentle to every one, as if he had
begun to see what a beautiful place the world can be.
This made it worse when Mrs. West came, and explained that all he had
done for me was for duty, not for love: that he loved her, and I had
spoiled everything for them both. Mrs. West said that he would stick to
his duty at all costs, until I was actually married, so I was glad then,
instead of sorry as I had been before, that Basil wanted me. I saw that
she was right, and the sooner it was over the better. But I didn't dare
think about the future. I just went on blindly, and did what Basil and
Mrs. West told me to do. Nothing seemed to matter except to show my
knight that after all my selfishness and thoughtlessness and conceit I
had freed him.
I would rather have been married anywhere than at Gretna Green, but
Basil had set his heart on that place.
We told my knight that Barbara was making me go away at once with Mrs.
West and Basil; or rather, I let them explain. I couldn't. I was afraid
I should break down, and he would see how wretched I was. It was all I
could do to say "good-bye." It nearly killed me to see the hurt,
surprised look on his face. Even now I can hardly write of that.
Basil had found out about the marriage laws. We had been in Scotland for
three weeks, and all we had to do, if we wanted to be married in a
hurry, was to declare before two witnesses who knew us both, that we
took each other as husband and wife. We could have done it just as well
at Ballachulish if Basil hadn't been determined it should be Gretna
Green; but afterward I thought that he, or perhaps Mrs. West, had felt
it would be better to have the wedding far away from my knight, who
called himself my guardian, and might consider it his duty to object.
Mrs. West was to be one of the witnesses, and, as Barbara couldn't leave
the man she was engaged to, the very last day before he sailed, Basil
thought we had better have Salomon the chauffeur for the second witness.
Mr. George Vanneck might have come on from Glasgow, but I heard Mrs.
West say to Basil, when he suggested telegraphing, "I don't want to see
him just now, and especially at the time of a wedding. He might be
unreasonable."
As we needed Salomon, we went all the way in the car, instead of taking
the train from Oban, which would have saved us a few hours.
When we got to Gretna Green it was evening, but the daylight lingered
still. In the south it would already have been gone. There was a pale
dusk mingling with the moonshine, and I couldn't help remembering the
mysterious light in Sweetheart Abbey, on my first night of Scotland and
the heather moon. I remembered my dream, too, the dream of the locked
ebony and silver box, which could be opened only by the key of the
rainbow. It nearly broke my heart to think of these things, and I wished
it _would_ break, so that I might die instead of marrying Basil: for if
I were dead I should be safely out of everybody's way, just the same as
being married.
Basil asked me where it was that we had gone through the ceremony for
the photographs, but before I had time to answer, the car brought us to
the house, and he recognized it from the biograph pictures. He told
Salomon to stop, and leaving Mrs. West and me in the car, he got out to
talk with the man of the house. Up till that moment I had been dully
wishing it were all over, and had been actually in a hurry; but suddenly
I felt as if I couldn't bear being married, and should have to run away.
I longed and almost prayed for something--anything--to happen which
would put off the wedding until another day. If an earthquake had
wrecked the house I should have been delighted. But nothing did happen.
Mrs. West talked cheeringly to me while Basil was gone, saying how happy
I should be all the rest of my life, and what a lovely honeymoon her
brother was planning. "I shall go away and leave you to your two
selves," she said; and though I'm afraid I almost hated her, still I
longed to cry out, "Oh, _don't_ go away!"
In a few minutes Basil came back, looking excited and rather happy, yet
there was that curiously pitiful, apologetic expression in his eyes
which had been in them always lately, as if he were ashamed and sorry
about something.
"It's all right," he explained. "The man tells me we can be married
here, and it's not too late. He says a good many people come even
nowadays, simply for the romance of having their wedding at Gretna
Green." Then Basil gave his hand to me, to help me down from the car. I
felt very weak, and almost sick. How different from the day when my
knight and I had dashed up to this door in the old-fashioned chaise, and
played the game of being married at the anvil! How my heart beat as he
held me for an instant in his arms! I ought to have known then that I
was in love with him. Now, it was as if my heart were dying, for it felt
cold and heavy as lead, as I told myself that after this it would be
wrong to call Mr. Somerled "my knight," or even to think of him at all,
since to think was to love.
Mrs. West got down from the car too, and took off her veil. Basil
explained to Salomon what it would be necessary for him to do, and how
he must leave his motor for a few minutes.