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<h1>Chapter XXI.</h1> The wedding-day was fixed for the middle of August, and the ceremony was to take place in Newport. It is not an easy matter to arrange the marriage of two young people neither of whom has father or mother, though their subsequent happiness is not likely to suffer much by the bereavement. It was agreed, however, that Mrs. Wyndham, who was Sybil’s oldest friend, should come and stay at Sherwood until everything was finished; and she answered the invitation by saying she was “perfectly wild to come,”–and she came at once. Uncle Tom Sherwood was a little confused at the notion of having his house full of people; but Sybil had been amusing herself by reorganizing the place for some time back, and there is nothing easier than to render a great old-fashioned country mansion habitable for a few days in the summer, when carpets are useless and smoking chimneys are not a necessity. Mrs. Wyndham said that Sam would come down for the wedding and stay over the day, but that she expected he was pretty busy just now. “By the way,” she remarked, “you know John Harrington has come home. We must send him an invitation.” The three ladies were walking in the garden after breakfast, hatless and armed with parasols. Joe started slightly, but no one noticed it. “When did he come–where has he been all this time?” asked Sybil. “Oh, I do not know. He came down to see Sam the other day at our place. He seems to have taken to business. They talked about the Monroe doctrine and the Panama canal, and all kinds of things. Sam says somebody has died and left him money. Anyway, he seems a good deal interested in the canal.” Mrs. Wyndham chatted on, planning with Sybil the details of the wedding. The breakfast was to be at Sherwood, and there were not to be many people. Indeed, the distance would keep many away, a fact for which no one of those principally concerned was at all sorry. John Harrington, sweltering in the heat of New York, and busier than he had ever been in his life, received an engraved card to the effect that Mr. Thomas Sherwood requested the pleasure of Mr. Harrington’s company at the marriage of his grandniece, Miss Sybil Brandon, to Mr. Ronald Surbiton, at Sherwood, on the 15th of August. There was also a note from Mrs. Wyndham, saying that she was staying at Sherwood, and that she hoped John would be able to come. John had, of course, heard of the engagement, but he had not suspected that the wedding would take place so soon. In spite of his business, however, he determined to be present. A great change had come over his life since he had bid Joe good-by six months earlier. He had been called to London as he had expected, and had arrived there to find that Z was dead, and that he was to take his place in the council. The fiery old man had died very suddenly, having worked almost to his last hour, in spite of desperate illness; but when it was suspected that his case was hopeless, John Harrington was warned that he must be ready to join the survivors at once. In the great excitement, and amidst the constant labor of his new position, the past seemed to sink away to utter insignificance. His previous exertions, the short sharp struggle for the senatorship ending in defeat, the hopes and fears of ten years of a most active life, were forgotten and despised in the realization of what he had so long and so ardently desired, and now at last he saw that his dreams were no impossibility, and that his theories were not myths. But he knew also that, with all his strength and devotion and energy, he was as yet no match for the two men with whom he had to do. Their vast experience of men and things threw his own knowledge into the shade, and cool as he was in emergencies, he recognized that the magnitude of the matters they handled astonished and even startled him more than he could have believed possible. Years must elapse before he understood what seemed as plain as the day to them, and he must fight many desperate battles before he was their equal. But the determination to devote his life wholly and honestly to the one object for which a man should live had grown stronger than ever. In his exalted view the ideal republic assumed grand and noble proportions, and already overshadowed the whole earth with the glory of honor and peace and perfect justice. Before the advancing tide of a spotless civilization, all poverty, all corruption and filthiness, all crime, all war and corroding seeds of discord were swept utterly away and washed from the world, to leave only forever and ever the magnificent harmony of nations and peoples, wherein none of those vile, base, and wicked things should even be dreamed of, or so much as remembered. He thought of Joe sometimes, wondering rather vaguely why she had acted as she had, and whether any other motive than pure sympathy with his work had made her resent so violently Vancouver’s position towards him. It was odd, he thought, that an English girl should find such extreme interest in American political doings, and then the scene in the dim sitting-room during the ball came vividly back to his memory. It was not in his nature to fancy that every woman who was taken with a fit of coughing was in love with him, but the conviction formed itself in his mind that he might possibly have fallen in love with Joe if things had been different. As it was, he had put away such childish things, and meant to live out his years of work, with their failure or success, without love and without a wife. He would always be grateful to Joe, but that would be all, and he would be glad to see her whenever an opportunity offered, just as he would be glad to see any other friend. In this frame of mind he arrived in Newport on the morning of the wedding, and reached the little church among the trees just in time to witness the ceremony. It was not different from other weddings, excepting perhaps that the place where the High Church portion of Newport elects to worship is probably smaller than any other consecrated building in the world. Every seat was crowded, and it was with difficulty that John could find standing room just within the door. The heat was intense, and the horses that stood waiting in the avenue, sweated in the sun as they fought the flies, and pawed the hard road in an agony of impatience. Sybil was exquisitely lovely as she went by on old Mr. Sherwood’s arm. The old gentleman had consented to assume a civilized garb for once in his life, and looked pleased with his aged self, as well he might be, seeing that the engagement had been made under his roof. Then Ronald passed, paler than usual, but certainly the handsomest man present, carrying himself with a new dignity, as though he knew himself a better man than ever in being found worthy of his beautiful bride. It was soon over, and the crowd streamed out after the bride and bridegroom. “Hallo, Harrington, how are you?” said Vancouver, overtaking John as he turned into the road. “You had better get in with me and drive out. I have not seen you for an age.” John stood still and surveyed Vancouver with a curiously calm air of absolute superiority. “Thank you very much,” he answered civilly. “I have hired a carriage to take me there. I dare say we shall meet. Good-morning.” John had been to Sherwood some years before, but he was surprised at the change that had been wrought in honor of the marriage. The place looked inhabited, the windows were all open, and the paths had been weeded, though Sybil had not allowed the wild shrubbery to be pruned nor the box hedges to be trimmed. She loved the pathless confusion of the old grounds, and most of all she loved the dilapidated summer-house. John shook hands with many people that he knew. Mrs. Wyndham led him aside a little way. “Is it not just perfectly splendid?” she exclaimed. “They are so exactly suited to each other. I feel as if I had done it all. You are not at all enthusiastic.” “On the contrary,” said John, “I am very enthusiastic. It is the best thing that could possibly have happened.” “Then go and do likewise,” returned Mrs. Sam, laughing. Then she changed her tone. “There is a young lady here who will be very glad to see you. Go and try and cheer her up a little, can’t you?” “Who is that?” “A young lady over there–close to Sybil-dressed in white with roses. Don’t you see? How stupid you are! There–the second on the left.” “Do you mean to say that is Miss Thorn?” exclaimed John in much surprise, and looking where Mrs. Sam directed him. “Good Heavens! How she has changed!” “Yes, she has changed a good deal,” said Mrs. Wyndham, looking at John’s face. “I hardly think I should have known her,” said John. “She must have been very ill; what has been the matter?” “The matter? Well, perhaps if you will go and speak to her, you will see what the matter is,” answered Mrs. Sam, enigmatically. “What do you mean?” John looked at his companion in astonishment. “I mean just exactly what I say. Go and talk to her, and cheer her up a little.” She dropped her voice, and spoke close to Harrington’s ear–“No one else in the world can,” she added. John’s impulse was to answer Mrs. Wyndham sharply. What possible right could she have to say such things? It was extremely bad taste, if it was nothing worse, even with an old friend like John. But he checked the words on his lips and spoke coldly. “It is not fair to say things like that about any girl,” he answered. “I will certainly go and speak to her at once, and if you will be good enough to watch, you will see that I am the most indifferent of persons in her eyes.” “Very well, I will watch,” said Mrs. Wyndham, not in the least disconcerted. “Only take care.” John smiled quietly, and made his way through the crowd of gaily-dressed, laughing people to here Joe was standing. She had not yet caught sight of him, but she knew he was in the room, and she felt very nervous. She intended to treat him with friendly coolness, as a protest against her conduct in former days. Poor Joe! she was very miserable, but she had made a brave effort. Her pale cheeks and darkened eyes contrasted painfully with the roses she wore, and her short nervous remarks to those who spoke to her sounded very unlike her former self. “How do you do, Miss Thorn?” John said, very quietly. “It is a long time since we met.” Joe put her small cold hand in his, and it trembled so much that John noticed it. She turned her head a little away from him, frightened now that he was at last come. “Yes,” she said in a low voice, “it is a long time.” She felt herself turn red and then pale, and as she looked away from John she met Mrs. Wyndham’s black eyes turned full upon her in an inquiring way. She started as though she had been caught in some wrong thing; but she was naturally brave, and after the first shock she spoke to John more naturally. “We seem destined for festivities, Mr. Harrington,” she said, trying to laugh. “We parted at a ball, and we meet again at a wedding.” “It is always more gay to meet than to part,” answered John. “I think this is altogether one of the gayest things I ever saw. What a splendid fellow your cousin is. It does one good to see men like that.” “Yes, Ronald is very good-looking,” said Joe. “I am so very glad, you do not know; and he is so happy.” “Any man ought to be who marries such a woman,” said John. “By the bye,” he added with a smile, “Vancouver takes it all very comfortably, does he not? I would like to know what he really feels.” “I am sure that whatever it is, it is something bad,” said Joe. “How you hate him!” exclaimed John with a laugh. “I–I do not hate him. But you ought to, Mr. Harrington. I simply despise him, that is all.” “No, I do not hate him either,” answered John. “I would not disturb my peace of mind for the sake of hating any one. It is not worth while.” Some one came and spoke to Joe, and John moved away in the crowd, more disturbed in mind than he cared to acknowledge. He had gone to Joe’s side in the firm conviction that Mrs. Wyndham was only making an untimely jest, and that Joe would greet him indifferently. Instead she had blushed, turned paler, hesitated in her speech, and had shown every sign of confusion and embarrassment. He knew that Mrs. Wyndham was right, after all, and he avoided her, not wishing to give a fresh opportunity for making remarks upon Joe’s manner. The breakfast progressed, and the people wandered out into the garden from the hot rooms, seeking some coolness in the shady walks. By some chain of circumstances which John could not explain, he found himself left alone with Joe an hour after he had first met her in the house. A little knot of acquaintances had gone out to the end of one of the walks, where there was a shady old bower, and presently they had paired off and moved away in various directions, leaving John and Joe together. The excitement had brought the faint color to the girl’s face at last, and she was more than usually inclined to talk, partly from nervous embarrassment, and partly from the enlivening effect of so many faces she had not seen for so long. “Tell me,” she said, pulling a leaf from the creepers and twisting it in her fingers–“tell me, how long was it before you forgot your disappointment about the election? Or did you think it was not worth while to disturb your peace of mind for anything so trivial?” “I suppose I could not help it,” said John. “I was dreadfully depressed at first. I told you so, do you remember?” “Of course you were, and I was very sorry for you. I told you you would lose it, long before, but you do not seem to care in the least now. I do not understand you at all.” “I soon got over it,” said John. “I left Boston on the day after I saw you, and went straight to London. And then I found that a friend of mine was dead, and I had so much to do that I forgot everything that had gone before.” Joe gave a little sigh, short and sharp, and quickly checked. “You have a great many friends, have you not?” she said. “Yes, very many. A man cannot have too many of the right sort.” “I do not think you and I mean the same thing by friendship,” said Joe. “I should say one cannot have too few.” “I mean friends who will help you at the right moment, that is, when you ask help. Surely it must be good to have many.” “Everything that you do and say always turns to one and the same end,” said Joe, a little impatiently. “The one thing you live for is power and the hope of power. Is there nothing in the world worth while save that?” “Power itself is worth nothing. It is the thing one means to get with it that is the real test.” “Of course. But tell me, is anything you can obtain by all the power the world holds better than the simple happiness of natural people, who are born and live good lives, and–fall in love, and marry, and that sort of thing, and are happy, and die?” Joe looked down and turned the leaf she held in her fingers, as she stated her proposition. John Harrington paused before he answered. A moment earlier he had been as calm and cold as he was wont to be; now, he suddenly hesitated. The strong blood rushed to his brain and beat furiously in his temples, and then sank heavily back to his heart, leaving his face very pale. His fingers wrung each other fiercely for a moment. He looked away at the trees; he turned to Josephine Thorn; and then once more he gazed at the dark foliage, motionless in the hot air of the summer’s afternoon. “Yes,” he said, “I think there are things much better than those in the world.” But his voice shook strangely, and there was no true ring in it. Joe sighed again. In the distance she could see Ronald and Sybil, as they stood under the porch shaking hands with the departing guests. She looked at them, so radiant and beautiful with the fulfilled joy of a perfect love, and she looked at the stern, strong man by her side, whose commanding face bore already the lines of care and trouble, and who, he said, had found something better than the happiness of yonder bride and bridegroom. She sighed, and she said in her woman’s heart that they were right, and that John Harrington was wrong. “Come,” she said, rising, and her words had a bitter tone, “let us go in; it is late.” John did not move. He sat like a stone, paler than death, and said no word in answer. Joe turned and looked at him, as though wondering why he did not follow her. She was terrified at the expression in his face. “Are you not coming?” she asked, suddenly going close to him and looking into his eyes. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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