Rachel Ray Part 25

"What word?"

"Say to me, 'Dear Luke, I will be your wife.'"

She remained for a moment quite pa.s.sive in his hands, trying to say it, but the words would not come. Of course she would be his wife.

Why need he trouble her further?

"Nay, but, Rachel, you shall speak, or I will stay with you here till your mother comes, and she shall answer for you. If you had disliked me I think you would have said so."

"I don't dislike you," she whispered.

"And do you love me?" She slightly bowed her head. "And you will be my wife?" Again she went through the same little piece of acting.

"And I may call you Rachel now?" In answer to this question she shook herself free from his slackened grasp, and escaped away across the room.

"You cannot forbid me now. Come and sit down by me, for of course I have got much to say to you. Come and sit down, and indeed I will not trouble you again."

Then she went to him very slowly, and sat with him, leaving her hand in his, listening to his words, and feeling in her heart the full delight of having such a lover. Of the words that were then spoken, but very few came from her lips; he told her all his story of the brewery quarrel, and was very eloquent and droll in describing Tappitt as he brandished the poker.

"And was he going to hit you with it?" said Rachel, with all her eyes open.

"Well, he didn't hit me," said Luke; "but to look at him he seemed mad enough to do anything." Then he told her how at the present moment he was living at the inn, and how it became necessary, from this unfortunate quarrel, that he should go at once to London. "But under no circ.u.mstances would I have gone," said he, pressing her hand very closely, "without an answer from you."

"But you ought not to think of anything like that when you are in such trouble."

"Ought I not? Well, but I do, you see." Then he explained to her that part of his project consisted in his marrying her out of hand,--at once. He would go up to London for a week or two, and then, coming back, be married in the course of the next month.

"Oh, Mr. Rowan, that would be impossible."

"You must not call me Mr. Rowan, or I shall call you Miss Ray."

"But indeed it would be impossible."

"Why impossible?"

"Indeed it would. You can ask mamma;--or rather, you had better give over thinking of it. I haven't had time yet even to make up my mind what you are like."

"But you say that you love me."

"So I do, but I suppose I ought not; for I'm sure I don't know what you are like yet. It seems to me that you're very fond of having your own way, sir;--and so you ought," she added; "but really you can't have your own way in that. n.o.body ever heard of such a thing.

Everybody would think we were mad."

"I shouldn't care one straw for that."

"Ah, but I should,--a great many straws."

He sat there for two hours, telling her of all things appertaining to himself. He explained to her that, irrespective of the brewery, he had an income sufficient to support a wife,--"though not enough to make her a fine lady like Mrs. Cornbury," he said.

"If you can give me bread and cheese, it's as much as I have a right to expect," said Rachel.

"I have over four hundred a year," said he: and Rachel, hearing it, thought that he could indeed support a wife. Why should a man with four hundred a year want to brew beer?

"But I have got nothing," said Rachel; "not a farthing."

"Of course not," said Rowan; "it is my theory that unmarried girls never ought to have anything. If they have, they ought to be considered as provided for, and then they shouldn't have husbands.

And I rather think it would be better if men didn't have anything either, so that they might be forced to earn their bread. Only they would want capital."

Rachel listened to it all with the greatest content, and most unalloyed happiness. She did not quite understand him, but she gathered from his words that her own poverty was not a reproach in his eyes, and that he under no circ.u.mstances would have looked for a wife with a fortune. Her happiness was unalloyed at all she heard from him, till at last he spoke of his mother.

"And does she dislike me?" asked Rachel, with dismay.

"It isn't that she dislikes you, but she's staying with that Mrs.

Tappitt, who is furious against me because,--I suppose it's because of this brewery row. But indeed I can't understand it. A week ago I was at home there; now I daren't show my nose in the house, and have been turned out of the brewery this morning with a poker."

"I hope it's nothing about me," said Rachel.

"How can it be about you?"

"Because I thought Mrs. Tappitt looked at the ball as though--. But I suppose it didn't mean anything."

"It ought to be a matter of perfect indifference whether it meant anything or not."

"But how can it be so about your mother? If this is ever to lead to anything--"

"Lead to anything! What it will lead to is quite settled."

"You know what I mean. But how could I become your wife if your mother did not wish it?"

"Look here, Rachel; that's all very proper for a girl, I dare say.

If your mother thought I was not fit to be your husband, I won't say but what you ought to take her word in such a matter. But it isn't so with a man. It will make me very unhappy if my mother cannot be friends with my wife; but no threats of hers to that effect would prevent me from marrying, nor should they have any effect upon you.

I'm my own master, and from the nature of things I must look out for myself."

This was all very grand and masterful on Rowan's part, and might in theory be true; but there was that in it which made Rachel uneasy, and gave to her love its first shade of trouble. She could not be quite happy as Luke's promised bride, if she knew that she would not be welcomed to that place by Luke's mother. And then what right had she to think it probable that Luke's mother would give her such a welcome? At that first meeting, however, she said but little herself on the subject. She had pledged to him her troth, and she would not attempt to go back from her pledge at the first appearance of a difficulty. She would talk to her own mother, and perhaps his mother might relent. But throughout it all there ran a feeling of dismay at the idea of marrying a man whose mother would not willingly receive her as a daughter!

"But you must go," said she at last. "Indeed you must. I have things to do, if you have nothing."

"I'm the idlest man in the world at the present moment. If you turn me out I can only go and sit at the inn."

"Then you must go and sit at the inn. If you stay any longer mamma won't have any dinner."

"If that's so, of course I'll go. But I shall come back to tea."

As Rachel gave no positive refusal to this proposition, Rowan took his departure on the understanding that he might return.

"Good-bye," said he. "When I come this evening I shall expect you to walk with me."

"Oh, I don't know," said she.

"Yes, you will; and we will see the sun set again, and you will not run from me this evening as though I were an ogre." As he spoke he took her in his arms and held her, and kissed her before she had time to escape from him. "You're mine altogether now," said he, "and nothing can sever us. G.o.d bless you, Rachel!"

"Good-bye, Luke," and then they parted.