With this comfort Chris caressed Phoebe once more, heartily pitying her helplessness, and wishing it in her power to undertake the approaching ordeal on the young bride’s behalf.  Then she departed, her eyes almost as dim as Phoebe’s.  For a moment she forgot her own helpless matrimonial projects in sorrow for her brother and his future wife.  Marriage at the registry office represented to her, as to most women, an unlovely, uncomfortable, and unfinished ceremony.  She had as easily pictured a funeral without the assistance of the Church as a wedding without it.

CHAPTER IX

OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL

Within less than twelve hours of the time when she bid Chris farewell Phoebe Lyddon was Phoebe Lyddon no more.  Will met her at Newton; they immediately proceeded to his uncle’s office; and the Registrar had made them man and wife in space of time so brief that the girl could hardly realise the terrific event was accomplished, and that henceforth she belonged to Will alone.  Mr. Ford had his little joke afterwards in the shape of a wedding-breakfast and champagne.  He was gratified at the event and rejoiced to be so handsomely and tremendously revenged on his unfortunate enemy.  The young couple partook of the good things provided for them; but appetite was lacking to right enjoyment of the banquet, and Will and his wife much desired to escape and be alone.

Presently they returned to the station and arrived there before Phoebe’s train departed.  Her husband then briefly explained the remarkable course of action he designed to pursue.

“You must be a braave gal and think none the worse of me.  But’t is this way:  I’ve broke law, and a month or two, or six, maybe, in gaol have got to be done.  Your faither will see to that.”

“Prison!  O, Will!  For marryin’ me?”

“No, but for marryin’ you wi’out axin’ leave.  Miller Lyddon told me the upshot of taking you, if I done it; an’ I have; an’ he’ll keep his word.  So that’s it.  I doan’t want to make no more trouble; an’ bein’ a man of resource I’m gwaine up to Exeter by first train, so soon as you’ve started.  Then all bother in the matter will be saved Miller.”

“O Will!  Must you?”

“Ess fay, ’t is my duty.  I’ve thought it out through many hours.  The time’ll soon slip off; an’ then I’ll come back an’ stand to work.  Here’s a empty carriage.  Jump in.  I can sit along with ’e for a few minutes.”

“How ever shall I begin?  How shall I break it to them, dearie?”

“Hold up your li’l hand,” said Will with a laugh.  “Shaw ’em the gawld theer.  That’ll speak for ’e.  ’S truth!” he continued, with a gesture of supreme irritation, “but it’s a hard thing to be snatched apart like this—­man an’ wife.  If I was takin’ ’e home to some lew cot, all our very awn, how differ’nt ’t would be!”

“You will some day.”

“So I will then.  I’ve got ‘e for all time, an’ Jan Grimbal’s missed ’e for all time.  Damned if I ban’t a’most sorry for un!”