CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH.

JULIA’S WEDDING.

Before the Careys and Julia returned to Guernsey, Captain Carey came to see me one evening, at our own house in Brook Street.  He seemed suffering from some embarrassment and shyness; and I could not for some time lead him to the point he was longing to gain.

“You are quite reconciled to all this, Martin?” he said, stammering.  I knew very well what he meant.

“More than reconciled,” I answered, “I am heartily glad of it.  Julia will make you an excellent wife.”

“I am sure of that,” he said, simply, “yet it makes me nervous a little at times to think I may be standing in your light.  I never thought what it was coming to when I tried to comfort Julia about you, or I would have left Johanna to do it all.  It is very difficult to console a person without seeming very fond of them; and then there’s the danger of them growing fond of you.  I love Julia now with all my heart:  but I did not begin comforting her with that view, and I am sure you exonerate me, Martin?”

“Quite, quite,” I said, almost laughing at his contrition; “I should never have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she is going to be married, especially to an old friend like you.  I shall make your house my home.”

“Do, Martin,” he answered, his face brightening; “and now I am come to ask you a great favor—­a favor to us all.”

“I’ll do it, I promise that beforehand,” I said.

“We have all set our hearts on your being my best man,” he replied—­“at the wedding, you know.  Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernsey people that we are all good friends except that.  It will have a queer look, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do not blame either Julia or me.  I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin, because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still; but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every one perfectly happy.”

I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, it seemed very natural and reasonable.  There was no motive strong enough to make me refuse to go to Julia’s wedding; so I arranged to be with them the last week in July.

About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on the Sussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I had received a letter regularly three times a week.  I found him as near complete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but I impressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet and unexcited.  He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had always irritated me.

“Ah! you doctors are like mothers,” he said, “who try to frighten their children with bogies.  A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one is quite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as my lameness is gone.”