God's Good Man by Marie Corelli (best young adult book series .txt) đ
- Author: Marie Corelli
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âThatâs true!â said John, slipping an arm round his beloved, and whispering his words in the little delicate ear half-hidden by the clustering gold-brown curls above itââIf a man be not too far gone as a bachelor, he may perhaps âreturn againâ as a tolerable husband? What do you think, my Maryllia?â
Her eyes sparkled with all their own mirth and mischief.
âI couldnât possibly sayâyet!â she saidââYou are quite perfect as an engaged man,âI never heard of anybody quite so attentiveâsoâ well!âso nicely behaved!â and she laughed, âBut how you will turn out when you are married, I shouldnât like to prophesy!â
âIf the children werenât looking at us, I should kiss you,â he observed, with a suggestive glance at her smiling lips.
âIâm sure you would!â she rejoinedââFor an âoldâ bachelor, John, you are quite an adept at that kind of thing!â
Here the little village dancers slackened the speed of their tripping measure and moved slowly round and round, allowing the garlands and ribbons to drop from their hands one by one against the May-pole, as they sang in softer tonesâ
âThe moon shines bright, and the stars give light, A little before it is day, So God bless you all, both great and small, And send you a merrie May!âCeasing at this, they all gathered in one group and burst out into an ecstatic roar.
âHurra! Three cheers for Passon!â
âHurra! Hurra! Hurra!â
âThree cheers for Miss Vancourt!â
âHurra!â But here there was a pause. Some one was obstructing the wave of enthusiasm. Signs of mixed scuffling were apparent,âwhen all suddenly the bold voice of Bob Keeley cried out:
âNot a bit of it! Three cheers for Missis Passon!â
Shouts of laughter followed this irreverent proposal, together with much whooping and cheering as never was. Ipsie Frost, who of course was present, no village revel being considered complete without her, was dancing recklessly all by herself on the grass, chirping in her baby voice a ballad of her own contriving which ran thus:
âDaisies white, violets blue, Cowslips yellow,âand I loves âoo! Little birdâs nest Up in a tree, Springâs cominâ,âand âOo loves me!âAnd it was after Ipsie that Maryllia ran, to cover her smiles and blushes as the echo of the childrenâs mirth pealed through the garden,âand with the pretty blue-eyed little creature clinging to her hand, she came back again sedately, with all her own winsome and fairy-like stateliness to thank them for their good wishes.
âThey mean it so well, John!â she said afterwards, when the youngsters, still laughing and cheering, had gone away with their crowned symbol of the dawning springââand they love you so much! I never knew of any man that was loved so much by so many people in one little place as you are, John! And to be loved by all the children is a great thing;âI thinkâof course I cannot be quite sureâbut I think it is an exceptional thingâfor a clergyman!â
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *With rose-crowned June, the rose-window in the church of St. Rest was filled in and completed. Maryllia had found all the remaining ancient stained glass that had been needed to give the finishing touch to its beauty, and the loveliest deep gem-like hues shone through the carven apertures like rare jewels in a perfect setting. The rays of light filtering through them were wonderful and mystical,âsuch as might fall from the pausing wings of some great ministering angel,âand under the blaze of splendid colour, the white sarcophagus with its unknown âSaintâ asleep, lay steeped in soft folds of crimson and azure, gold and amethyst, while even the hollow notches in the sculptured word âResurgetâ seemed filled with delicate tints like those painted by old-world monks on treasured missals. And presently one morning came,âwarm with the breath of summer, sunny and beautiful,âwhen the window was solemnly re- consecrated by Bishop Brent at ten oâclock,âa consecration followed by the loud and joyous ringing of the bells, and a further sacred ceremony,âthe solemnisation of matrimony between John Walden and Maryllia Vancourt. All the village swarmed out like a hive of bees from their honey-cells to see their âPassonâ married. Hundreds of honest and affectionate eyes looked love on the bride, as clad in the simplest of simple white gowns, with a plain white veil draping her from head to foot, she came walking to the church across the warm clover-scented fields, like any village maid, straight from the Manor, escorted only by Cicely, her one bridesmaid. At the churchyard gate, she was met by all the youngest girls of the school, arrayed in white, who, carrying rush baskets full of wild flowers, scattered them before her as she moved,âand when she arrived at the church porch, she was followed by the little child Ipsie, whose round fair cherub-like face reflected one broad smile of delight, and who carried between her two tiny hands a basket full to overflowing of old French damask roses, red as the wine-glow of a summer sunset. The church was crowded,ânot only by villagers but by county folks,âfor everyone from near or far that could be present at what they judged to be a âstrangeâ weddingânamely a wedding for love and love aloneâhad mustered in force for the occasion. One or two had stayed away from a certain sense of discrepancy in themselves, to which it is needless to refer. Sir Morton Pippitt was among these. He felt,âbut what he felt is quite immaterial. And so far as his daughter was concerned, she, as Bainton expressed it, had âgone aâ visitinâ.â The Ittlethwaites, of Ittlethwaite Park, in all the glory of their Magnum Chartus forebears were present, as were the Mandeville-Porehamsâwhile to Julian Adderley was given the honour of being Waldenâs âbest man.â He, as the music of the wedding voluntary poured from the organ, through the flower-scented air, wondered doubtfully whether poetic inspiration would ever assist him in such wise as to enable him to express in language the exquisite sweetness of Marylliaâs face, as, standing beside the man whose tender and loyal love she was surer of than any other possession in this world she repeated in soft accents the vow: âto have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey till death do us part!â
And when Bishop Brent placed her little hand in that of his old college friend, and pressed them tenderly together, he felt, looking at the heavenly light that beamed from her sweet eyes, that not even death itself could part her fond soul from that of the man whom she loved, and who loved her so purely and faithfully in Godâs sight. Thus, when pronouncing the wordsââThose whom God hath joined together, let no man. put asunder!â he was deeply conscious that for once at least in the troublous and uncertain ways of the modern world, the holy bond of wedlock was approved of in such wise as to be final and eternal.
Away in London, on this same marriage day, Lady Roxmouth, formerly Mrs. Fred Vancourt, sat at luncheon in her sumptuously furnished house in Park Lane, and looked across the table at her husband, while he lazily sipped a glass of wine.
âThat ridiculous girl Maryllia has married her parson by this time I suppose,ââshe saidââOf course itâs perfectly scandalous. Lady Beaulyon was quite disgusted when she heard of itâsuch an alliance for a Vancourt! And Mr. and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay tell me that the man Walden is quite an objectionable personâpositively boorish! Itâs dreadful really! But who could ever have imagined she would recover from that hunting spill? Wentworth Glynn said she was crippled for life. He told me so himself.â
âWell, he was wrong evidently,ââsaid Roxmouth, curtly. âEnglish surgeons are very clever, but they are not always infallible. This time an Italian has beaten them.â
âPerhaps she was not so seriously injured as the local man at St. Rest made her out to be,ââpursued her ladyship reflectively.
Roxmouth said nothing. She studied his face with amused scrutiny.
âPerhaps it was another little ruse to get rid of you and your wooing,ââshe went onââDear me! What an extraordinary contempt Maryllia always had for you to be sure!â
He moved restlessly, and she smiledâa hard little smile.
âI guess youâre hankering after her still!â she hinted.
âYour remarks are in rather bad taste,ââhe rejoined, coldly, helping himself to another glass of wine.
She rose from her chair, and came round the table to where he sat, laying a heavily jewelled hand on his shoulder.
âWell, youâve got ME!â she saidââAnd all Iâm worth! And you âloveâ me, donât you?â
She laughed a little.
He looked full at her,âat her worn, hard, artificially got-up face, her fashionable frock, and her cold, expressionless eyes.
âOh yes!â he answered, drilyââI âloveâ you! You know I do. We understand each other!â
âI guess we do!â she thought to herself as she left himââAnd when Iâm tired of being called âMy ladyâ or âYour Graceâ Iâll divorce him! And Iâll take care he isnât a penny the richer! Thereâs always that game to play, and you bet the Smart Set know how to play it!â
But of the ways, doings or saying of the Smart Set the village of St. Rest knows little and cares less. It dozes peacefully with the sun in its eyes, year in and year out, under the shadow of the eastern hills, with its beloved âPassonâ and now its equally beloved âPassonâs wife,â as king and queen of its tiny governmental concerns, drawing health and peace,
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