CHAPTER XXIX

THE MISSING WORD FOUND

IT was a lovely morning in June, and the little village of Rosthwaite was all astir, and filled with pleasurable excitement. Some were standing at their doors; others were looking out of their windows; from many a farm on the hillside, from many a lonely cottage, people were coming in little groups towards the church; the whole place, so quiet at other times, was filled with life and movement. Work was laid aside, every one was in holiday attire, for it was Marjorie Douglas's wedding-day.

Every one loved her; she had grown-up amongst them from childhood; she had gone in and out amongst them as a friend, and they were loth to part with her. But on her wedding-day, they must not think of that; she must see none but bright faces. Old Mary had hobbled on her stick all the way from Seatoller; Sarah Grisedale had come down from the mountains, and had waited an hour in the churchyard before the time of the wedding; and many another whom Marjorie had cheered and comforted was to be found in the little church, to pray for a blessing on the fair young bride.

The wedding was by licence; and the Vicar, at the bridegroom's dictation, had filled up the required information in the register before the arrival of the bridal party. Only two people knew what name was written there, above the name of Marjorie Douglas. The clergyman knew, of course, for he had written the words; and Mrs. Douglas knew. Kenneth had told her the night before. Marjorie herself had no idea, as yet, of the future that lay before her, or of the name which would that day become hers.

It was a very pretty though quiet wedding; and as Mrs. Douglas heard Kenneth's manly voice saying, in tones of deepest feeling:

"I, Kenneth, take thee, Marjorie, to my wedded wife," she felt that she was giving her child to one whom she could fully trust, one who was not only a kind and honourable man, but who was, above all things, a true servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Then came the signing of the names in the marriage registers. Mrs. Douglas was talking to Marjorie whilst Kenneth signed both books, and then the clergyman called her to write her name below. He had placed the blotting-paper over the upper line on which Kenneth's name stood.

"Do you mind leaving it there, Marjorie?" he said. "I am very particular about the neatness of my registers, and the lace on your sleeve may blot it."

Marjorie laughed, and wrote her name without removing the blotting-paper which covered the entry above. Then the books were closed, and the bridal party drove to Fernbank, amidst the cheers and good wishes of the villagers.

About an hour afterwards, Colonel Verner's carriage stood at the gate, waiting to convey the bride and bridegroom to Keswick station, and Kenneth and Marjorie came down the pretty garden, followed by the whole family, including good old Dorcas. Then the last good-byes were said, and they drove off; but at the bridge Kenneth stopped the carriage; he had forgotten his stick, he said.

He soon returned with it; but Marjorie did not know that he had purposely left it behind, in order that he might be able to slip a small envelope into her mother's hand. And when Mrs. Douglas opened it, after the carriage had driven away, she found that it contained a cheque for four thousand pounds.

The honeymoon was not to be a long one; only a fortnight in Scotland amidst the beauties of the Northern Highlands. Kenneth was anxious to get back to Eagleton, for he had much to arrange there, and Marjorie was eager to see her new home.

She asked many questions about it during their wedding tour.

For example: "Would all be ready when they arrived?"

"Oh yes; the servants were there."

"Servants! Would they be able to afford to keep two? Would it not be too extravagant?"

He could not help smiling when she said this, and had nearly let his secret out.

"Wait till you get home, Marjorie," he said, "and if you then think it is too many, we can send one away."

At another time she wanted to know how many rooms there were in the house, and what it was like. He told her that he was a bad hand at describing places; she would see when she got there.

"Is it a large house?"

"Larger than Mrs. Hall's."

"As big as Fernbank?"

"Yes, he thought it was quite as big as Fernbank."

And so the happy fortnight passed away, and the day arrived on which they were to return home.

"First-class tickets again. How extravagant you are, Kenneth!" she said, as they got into the train.

"One isn't married every day, Marjorie, and this is our honeymoon, remember."

"We are getting near North Eaton, Marjorie," said Kenneth, some hours after. "I think it is the next station."

Marjorie looked eagerly out of the window. "What lovely country!" she said. "I am so glad it is such a pretty place."

"The train is slowing down now, Marjorie."

"Oh, Kenneth, there is such a beautiful carriage waiting at the station, with a pair of lovely cream-coloured horses!"

"Very likely. There are several large estates in the neighbourhood."

A footman was standing on the platform, and came to the carriage door touching his hat. Kenneth got out and spoke to him, and walked with him a little way down the platform. Then he came back to where Marjorie was standing.

"Now, Marjorie, we will go to the carriage. Charles will see after the luggage."

"What carriage?"

"The one you saw standing on the road outside."

"Whose is it?"

"Lord Derwentwater's; it is going to drive us home."

"Do you know Lord Derwentwater, Kenneth?"

"Yes, very well."

"How very kind of him to send his carriage for us! Isn't it, Kenneth?"

They got in, and were soon driving rapidly along the road to Eagleton.

"Shall we soon be home?" she asked presently.

"Yes, very soon now. It is about two miles, I think."

Marjorie was too excited even to talk now. She was longing to see her new home, of which she knew so little.

"Kenneth," she said, about ten minutes later, "where are we going? They are stopping before a lodge, and they are opening the great gates. They must have made some mistake."

"No mistake at all, dearest; it is quite right."

"But look at this lovely avenue! We seem to be getting near some very grand house. Are you sure it is all right, Kenneth?"

"Quite right, darling. Look out; you will see the house in a few minutes."

They came out of the shade of the avenue into the bright evening sunshine beyond, and there before them, in all its magnificence, stood Eagleton Castle.

"Marjorie, do you like your home?"

"Kenneth," she said, in a half-frightened whisper, "I can't understand it. What does it all mean?"

"It means, my dear little woman, that I have found out the missing word in the letter, and that you are Lady Derwentwater."

THE END

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