Jack was lying on the sofa, as I came in. He rose and pressed my hand in silence. I said nothing, but took my seat in an easy-chair. Jack was arrayed for the ceremony in all respects, except his coat, instead of which garment he wore a dressing-gown. He was smoking vigorously. His face was very pale, and, from time to time, a heavy sigh escaped him.
I was very forcibly struck by the strong resemblance which there was between Jack, on the present occasion, and a condemned prisoner before his execution. So strong was this, that, somehow, as I sat there in silence, a vague idea came into my head that Jack was actually going to be hanged; and, before I knew where my thoughts were leading me, I began to think, in a misty way, of the propriety of calling in a clergyman to administer ghostly consolation to the poor condemned in his last moments. It was only with an effort that I was able to get rid of this idea, and come back from this foolish, yet not unnatural fancy, to the reality of the present situation. There was every reason, indeed, for such a momentary misconception. The sadness, the silence, the gloom, all suggested some prison cell; and Jack, prostrate, stricken, miserable, mute, and despairing, could not fail to suggest the doomed victim.
After a time Jack rose, and, going to the sideboard, offered me something to drink. I declined. Whereupon he poured out a tumblerful of raw brandy and hastily swallowed it. As he had done that very same thing before, I began to think that he was going a little too far.
"See here, old boy," said I, "arn't you a little reckless? That sort of thing isn't exactly the best kind of preparation for the event--is it?"
"What?--this?" said Jack, holding up the empty tumbler, with a gloomy glance toward me; "oh, its nothing. I've been drenching myself with brandy this last week. It's the only thing I can do. The worst of it is, it don't have much effect now. I have to drink too much of it before I can bring myself into a proper state of calm."
"Calm!" said I, "calm! I tell you what it is, old chap, you'll find it'll be any thing but calm. You'll have delirium tremens before the week's out, at this rate."
"Delirium tremens?" said Jack, with a faint, cynical laugh. "No go, my boy--too late. Not time now. If it had only come yesterday, I might have had a reprieve. But it didn't come. And so I have only a tremendous headache. I've less than an hour, and can't get it up in that time. Let me have my swing, old man. I'd do as much for you."
And, saying this, he drank off a half tumbler more.
"There," said he, going back to the sofa. "That's better. I feel more able to go through with it. It takes a good lot now, though, to get a fellow's courage up."
After this, Jack again relapsed into silence, which I ventured to interrupt with a few questions as to the nature of the coming ceremony.
Jack's answers were short, reluctant, and dragged from him piecemeal.
It was a thing which he had to face in a very short time, and any other subject was preferable as a theme for conversation.
"Will there be much of a crowd?"
"Oh, no."
"You didn't invite any."
"Me? invite any? Good Lord! I should think not!"
"Perhaps she has?"
"Oh, no; she said she wouldn't."
"Well, I dare say the town, by this time, has got wind of it, and the church'll be full."
"No, I think not," said Jack, with a sigh.
"Oh, I don't know; it's not a common affair."
"Well, she told me she had kept it a secret--and you and Louie are the only ones I've told it to--so, unless you have told about it, no one knows."
"I haven't told a soul."
"Then I don't see how anybody can know, unless old Fletcher has proclaimed it."
"Not he; he wouldn't take the trouble."
"I don't care," said Jack, morosely, "how many are there, or how few.
Crowd or no crowd, it makes small difference to me, by Jove!"
"Look here, old fellow," said I, suddenly, after some further conversation, "if you're going, you'd better start. It's a quarter to twelve now."
Jack gave a groan and rose from his sofa. He went into his dressing-room and soon returned, in his festive array, with a face of despair that was singularly at variance with his costume. Before starting, in spite of my remonstrances, he swallowed another draught of brandy. I began to doubt whether he would be able to stand up at the ceremony.
St. Malachi's was not far away, and a few minutes' drive brought us there.
The church was quite empty. A few stragglers, unknown to us, had taken seats in the front pews. Old Fletcher was in the chancel. We walked up and shook hands with him. He greeted Jack with an affectionate earnestness of congratulation, which, I was sorry to see, was not properly responded to.
After a few words, we all sat down in the choir.
It wanted about five minutes of the time.
The widow was expected every moment.
Old Fletcher now subsided into dignified silence. I fidgeted about, and looked at my watch every half-minute. As for Jack, he buried his face in his hands and sat motionless.
Thus four minutes passed.
No signs of the widow.
One minute still remained.
The time was very long.
I took out my watch a half-dozen times, to hasten its progress. I shook it impatiently to make it go faster. The great empty church looked cold and lonely. The little group of spectators only added to the loneliness of the scene. An occasional cough resounded harshly amid the universal stillness. The sibilant sounds of whispers struck sharply and unpleasantly upon the ear.
At last the minute passed.
I began to think my watch was wrong; but no--for suddenly, from the great bell above, in the church-tower, there tolled out the first stroke of the hour. And between each stroke there seemed o long, long interval, in which the mind had leisure to turn over and over all the peculiarities of this situation.
ONE! I counted.
[No widow. What's up? Did any one ever hear of a bride missing the hour, or delaying in this way?]
TWO!
[What a humbug of a woman! She has cultivated procrastination all her life, and this is the result]
THREE!
[Not yet. Perhaps she wants to make a sensation. She anticipates a crowded church, and will make an entrance in state.]
FOUR!
[But no; she did not invite anybody, and had no reason to suppose that any one would be here.]
FIVE!
[No, it could not be vanity; but, if not, what can be the possible cause?]