or ceremony, civil or religious; no notice before, or publication
after; no cohabitation, no writing, no witnesses even, are
essential to the constitution of this, the most important
contract which two persons can enter into.'--There is a Scotch
judge's own statement of the law that he administers! Observe, at
the same time, if you please, that we make full legal provision
in Scotland for contracts affecting the sale of houses and lands,
horses and dogs. The only contract which we leave without
safeguards or precautions of any sort is the contract that unites
a man and a woman for life. As for the authority of parents, and
the innocence of children, our law recognizes no claim on it
either in the one case or in the other. A girl of twelve and a
boy of fourteen have nothing to do but to cross the Border, and
to be married--without the interposition of the slightest delay
or restraint, and without the slightest attempt to inform their
parents on the part of the Scotch law. As to the marriages of men
and women, even the mere interchange of consent which, as you
have just heard, makes them man and wife, is not required to be
directly proved: it may be proved by inference. And, more even
than that, whatever the law for its consistency may presume, men
and women are, in point of fact, held to be married in Scotland
where consent has never been interchanged, and where the parties
do not even know that they are legally held to be married
persons. Are you sufficiently confused about the law of Irregular
Marriages in Scotland by this time, Mr. Delamayn? And have I said
enough to justify the strong language I used when I undertook to
describe it to you?"
"Who's that 'authority' you talked of just now?" inquired
Geoffrey. "Couldn't I ask _him?_"
"You might find him flatly contradicted, if you did ask him by
another authority equally learned and equally eminent," answered
Sir Patrick. "I am not joking--I am only stating facts. Have you
heard of the Queen's Commission?"
"No."
"Then listen to this. In March, 'sixty-five, the Queen appointed
a Commission to inquire into the Marriage-Laws of the United
Kingdom. The Report of that Commission is published in London;
and is accessible to any body who chooses to pay the price of two
or three shillings for it. One of the results of the inquiry was,
the discovery that high authorities were of entirely contrary
opinions on one of the vital questions of Scottish marriage-law.
And the Commissioners, in announcing that fact, add that the
question of which opinion is right is still disputed, and has
never been made the subject of legal decision. Authorities are
every where at variance throughout the Report. A haze of doubt
and uncertainty hangs in Scotland over the most important
contract of civilized life. If no other reason existed for
reforming the Scotch marriage-law, there would be reason enough
afforded by that one fact. An uncertain marriage-law is a
national calamity."
"You can tell me what you think yourself about my friend's
case--can't you?" said Geoffrey, still holding obstinately to the
end that he had in view.
"Certainly. Now that I have given you due warning of the danger
of implicitly relying on any individual opinion, I may give my
opinion with a clear conscience. I say that there has not been a
positive marriage in this case. There has been evidence in favor
of possibly establishing a marriage--nothing more."
The distinction here was far too fine to be appreciated by
Geoffrey's mind. He frowned heavily, in bewilderment and disgust.
"Not married!" he exclaimed, "when they said they were man and
wife, before witnesses?"
"That is a common popular error," said Sir Patrick. "As I have
already told you, witnesses are not legally necessary to make a
marriage in Scotland. They are only valuable--as in this case--to
help, at some future time, in proving a marriage that is in
dispute."
Geoffrey caught at the last words.
"The landlady and the waiter _might_ make it out to be a
marriage, then?" he said.
"Yes. And, remember, if you choose to apply to one of my
professional colleagues, he might possibly tell you they were
married already. A state of the law which allows the interchange
of matrimonial consent to be proved by inference leaves a wide
door open to conjecture. Your friend refers to a certain lady, in
so many words, as his wife. The lady refers to your friend, in so
many words, as her husband. In the rooms which they have taken,
as man and wife, they remain, as man and wife, till the next
lady stays at the inn, for some days after, in the character of
his wife. And all these circumstances take place in the presence
o f competent witnesses. Logically--if not legally--there is
apparently an inference of the interchange of matrimonial consent
here. I stick to my own opinion, nevertheless. Evidence in proof
of a marriage (I say)--nothing more."
While Sir Patrick had been speaking, Geoffrey had been
considering with himself. By dint of hard thinking he had found
his way to a decisive question on his side.
"Look here!" he said, dropping his heavy hand down on the table."
I want to bring you to book, Sir! Suppose my friend had another
lady in his eye?"
"Yes?"
"As things are now--would you advise him to marry her?"
"As things are now--certainly not!"
Geoffrey got briskly on his legs, and closed the interview.
"That will do," he said, "for him and for me."
With those words he walked back, without ceremony, into the main
thoroughfare of the room.
"I don't know who your friend is," thought Sir Patrick, looking
after him. "But if your interest in the question of his marriage
is an honest and a harmless interest, I know no more of human
nature than the babe unborn!"
Immediately on leaving Sir Patrick, Geoffrey was encountered by
one of the servants in search of him.
"I beg your pardon, Sir," began the man. "The groom from the
Honorable Mr. Delamayn's--"
"Yes? The fellow who brought me a note from my brother this
morning?"
"He's expected back, Sir--he's afraid he mustn't wait any
longer."
"Come here, and I'll give you the answer for him."
He led the way to the writing-table, and referred to Julius's
letter again. He ran his eye carelessly over it, until he reached
the final lines: "Come to-morrow, and help us to receive Mrs.
Glenarm." For a while he paused, with his eye fixed on that
sentence; and with the happiness of three people--of Anne, who
had loved him; of Arnold, who had served him; of Blanche,
guiltless of injuring him--resting on the decision that guided
his movements for the next day. After what had passed that
morning between Arnold and Blanche, if he remained at Lady
Lundie's, he had no alte
rnative but to perform his promise to
Anne. If he returned to his brother's house, he had no
alternative but to desert Anne, on the infamous pretext that she
was Arnold's wife.
He suddenly tossed the letter away from him on the table, and
snatched a sheet of note-paper out of the writing-case. "Here
goes for Mrs. Glenarm!" he said to himself; and wrote back to his
brother, in one line: "Dear Julius, Expect me to-morrow. G. D."
The impassible man-servant stood by while he wrote, looking at
his magnificent breadth of chest, and thinking what a glorious
"staying-power" was there for the last terrible mile of the
coming race.
"There you are!" he said, and handed his note to the man.
"All right, Geoffrey?" asked a friendly voice behind him.
He turned--and saw Arnold, anxious for news of the consultation
with Sir Patrick.
"Yes," he said. "All right."
------------ NOTE.--There are certain readers who feel a
disposition to doubt Facts, when they meet with them in a work of
fiction. Persons of this way of thinking may be profitably
referred to the book which first suggested to me the idea of
writing the present Novel. The book is the Report of the Royal
Commissioners on The Laws of Marriage. Published by the Queen's
Printers For her Majesty's Stationery Office. (London, 1868.)
What Sir Patrick says professionally of Scotch Marriages in this
chapter is taken from this high authority. What the lawyer (in
the Prologue) says professionally of Irish Marriages is also
derived from the same source. It is needless to encumber these
pages with quotations. But as a means of satisfying my readers
that they may depend on me, I subjoin an extract from my list of
references to the Report of the Marriage Commission, which any
persons who may be so inclined can verify for themselves.
_Irish Marriages_ (In the Prologue).--See Report, pages XII.,
XIII., XXIV.
_Irregular Marriages in Scotland._--Statement of the law by Lord
Examination of Mr. Muirhead by Lord Chelmsford (Question
689).--Interchange of consent, established by inference.
Examination of Mr. Muirhead by the Lord Justice Clerk (Question
654)--Marriage where consent has never been interchanged.
Observations of Lord Deas. Report, page XIX.--Contradiction of
opinions between authorities. Report, pages XIX., XX.--Legal
provision for the sale of horses and dogs. No legal provision for
the marriage of men and women. Mr. Seeton's Remarks. Report, page
XXX.--Conclusion of the Commissioners. In spite of the arguments
advanced before them in favor of not interfering with Irregular
Marriages in Scotland, the Commissioners declare their opinion
that "Such marriages ought not to continue." (Report, page
XXXIV.)
In reference to the arguments (alluded to above) in favor of
allowing the present disgraceful state of things to continue, I
find them resting mainly on these grounds: That Scotland doesn't
like being interfered with by England (!). That Irregular
Marriages cost nothing (!!). That they are diminishing in number,
and may therefore be trusted, in course of time, to exhaust
themselves (!!!). That they act, on certain occasions, in the
capacity of a moral trap to catch a profligate man (!!!!). Such
is the elevated point of view from which the Institution of
Marriage is regarded by some of the most pious and learned men in
Scotland. A legal enactment providing for the sale of your wife,
when you have done with her, or of your husband; when you "really
can't put up with him any longer," appears to be all that is
wanting to render this North British estimate of the "Estate of
Matrimony" practically complete. It is only fair to add that, of
the witnesses giving evidence--oral and written--before the
Commissioners, fully one-half regard the Irregular Marriages of
Scotland from the Christian and the civilized point of view, and
entirely agree with the authoritative conclusion already
cited--that such marriages ought to be abolished.
W. C.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.
DONE!
ARNOLD was a little surprised by the curt manner in which
Geoffrey answered him.
"Has Sir Patrick said any thing unpleasant?" he asked.
"Sir Patrick has said just what I wanted him to say."
"No difficulty about the marriage?"
"None."
"No fear of Blanche--"
"She won't ask you to go to Craig Fernie--I'll answer for that!"
He said the words with a strong emphasis on them, took his
brother's letter from the table, snatched up his hat, and went
out.
His friends, idling on the lawn, hailed him. He passed by them
quickly without answering, without so much as a glance at them
over his shoulder. Arriving at the rose-garden, he stopped and
took out his pipe; then suddenly changed his mind, and turned
back again by another path. There was no certainty, at that hour
of the day, of his being left alone in the rose-garden. He had a
fierce and hungry longing to be by himself; he felt as if he
could have been the death of any body who came and spoke to him
at that moment. With his head down and his brows knit heavily, he
followed the path to see what it ended in. It ended in a
wicket-gate which led into a kitchen-garden. Here he was well out
of the way of interruption: there was nothing to attract visitors
in the kitchen-garden. He went on to a walnut-tree planted in the
middle of the inclosure, with a wooden bench and a broad strip of
turf running round it. After first looking about him, he seated
himself and lit his pipe.
"I wish it was done!" he said.
He sat, with his elbows on his knees, smoking and thinking.
Before long the restlessness that had got possession of him
forced him to his feet again. He rose, and paced round and round
the strip of greensward under the walnut-tree, like a wild beast
in a cage.
What was the meaning of this disturbance in the inner man? Now
that he had committed himself to the betrayal of the friend who
had trusted and served him, was he torn by remorse?
He was no more torn by remorse than you are while your eye is
passing over this sentence. He was simply in a raging fever of
impatience to see himself safely la nded at the end which he had
in view.
Why should he feel remorse? All remorse springs, more or less
directly, from the action of two sentiments, which are neither of
them inbred in the natural man. The first of these sentiments is
the product of the respect which we learn to feel for ourselves.
The second is the product of the respect which we learn to feel
for others. In their highest manifestations, these two feelings
exalt themselves, until the first he comes the love of God, and
the second the love of Man. I have injured you, and I repent of
it when it is done. Why sho
uld I repent of it if I have gained
something by it for my own self and if you can't make me feel it
by injuring Me? I repent of it because there has been a sense put
into me which tells me that I have sinned against Myself, and
sinned against You. No such sense as that exists among the
instincts of the natural man. And no such feelings as these
troubled Geoffrey Delamayn; for Geoffrey Delamayn was the natural
man.
When the idea of his scheme had sprung to life in his mind, the
novelty of it had startled him--the enormous daring of it,
suddenly self-revealed, had daunted him. The signs of emotion
which he had betrayed at the writing-table in the library were
the signs of mere mental perturbation, and of nothing more.
That first vivid impression past, the idea had made itself
familiar to him. He had become composed enough to see such
difficulties as it involved, and such consequences as it implied.
These had fretted him with a passing trouble; for these he
plainly discerned. As for the cruelty and the treachery of the
thing he meditated doing--that consideration never crossed the
limits of his mental view. His position toward the man whose life
he had preserved was the position of a dog. The "noble animal"
who has saved you or me from drowning will fly at your throat or
mine, under certain conditions, ten minutes afterward. Add to the
dog's unreasoning instinct the calculating cunning of a man;
suppose yourself to be in a position to say of some trifling
thing, "Curious! at such and such a time I happened to pick up
such and such an object; and now it turns out to be of some use
to me!"--and there you have an index to the state of Geoffrey's
feeling toward his friend when he recalled the past or when he
contemplated the future. When Arnold had spoken to him at the
critical moment, Arnold had violently irritated him; and that was
all.
The same impenetrable insensibility, the same primitively natural
condition of the moral being, prevented him from being troubled
by the slightest sense of pity for Anne. "She's out of my way!"
was his first thought. "She's provided for, without any trouble
to Me! was his second. He was not in the least uneasy about her.
Not the slightest doubt crossed his mind that, when once she had
realized her own situation, when once she saw herself placed
between the two alternatives of facing her own ruin or of
claiming Arnold as a last resource, she would claim Arnold. She
would do it as a matter of course; because _he_ would have done
it in her place.
But he wanted it over. He was wild, as he paced round and round
the walnut-tree, to hurry on the crisis and be done with it. Give
me my freedom to go to the other woman, and to train for the
foot-race--that's what I want. _They_ injured? Confusion to them
both! It's I who am injured by them. They are the worst enemies I
have! They stand in my way.
How to be rid of them? There was the difficulty. He had made up
his mind to be rid of them that day. How was he to begin?
There was no picking a quarrel with Arnold, and so beginning with
_him._ This course of proceeding, in Arnold's position toward
Blanche, would lead to a scandal at the outset--a scandal which
would stand in the way of his making the right impression on Mrs.
Glenarm. The woman--lonely and friendless, with her sex and her
position both against her if _she_ tried to make a scandal of
it--the woman was the one to begin with. Settle it at once and
forever with Anne; and leave Arnold to hear of it and deal with
it, sooner or later, no matter which.
How was he to break it to her before the day was out?
By going to the inn and openly addressing her to her face as Mrs.
Arnold Brinkworth? No! He had had enough, at Windygates, of
meeting her face to face. The easy way was to write to her, and
send the letter, by the first messenger he could find, to the
inn. She might appear afterward at Windygates; she might follow
him to his brother's; she might appeal to his father. It didn't