IF you had been in the far West of England about thirteen years since, and if you had happened to take up one of the Cornish newspapers on a certain day of the month, which need not be specially mentioned, you would have seen this notice of a marriage at the top of a column:
On the third instant, at the parish church, the Reverend Alfred Carling, Rector of Penliddy, to Emily Harriet, relict of the late Fergus Duncan, Esq., of Glendarn, N.B.
The rector's marriage did not produce a very favorable impression in the town, solely in consequence of the unaccountable private and unpretending manner in which the ceremony had been performed.
The middle-aged bride and bridegroom had walked quietly to church one morning, had been married by the curate before any one was aware of it, and had embarked immediately afterward in the steamer for Tenby, where they proposed to pass their honeymoon.
The bride being a stranger at Penliddy, all inquiries about her previous history were fruitless, and the townspeople had no alternative but to trust to their own investigations for enlightenment when the rector and his wife came home to settle among their friends.
After six weeks' absence Mr.and Mrs.Carling returned, and the ****** story of the rector's courtship and marriage was gathered together in fragments, by inquisitive friends, from his own lips and from the lips of his wife.
Mr.Carling and Mrs.Duncan had met at Torquay.The rector, who had exchanged houses and duties for the season with a brother clergyman settled at Torquay, had called on Mrs.Duncan in his clerical capacity, and had come away from the interview deeply impressed and interested by the widow's manners and conversation.
The visits were repeated; the acquaintance grew into friendship, and the friendship into love--ardent, devoted love on both sides.
Middle-aged man though he was, this was Mr.Carling's first attachment, and it was met by the same freshness of feeling on the lady's part.Her life with her first husband had not been a happy one.She had made the fatal mistake of marrying to please her parents rather than herself, and had repented it ever afterward.On her husband's death his family had not behaved well to her, and she had passed her widowhood, with her only child, a daughter, in the retirement of a small Scotch town many miles away from the home of her married life.After a time the little girl's health had begun to fail, and, by the doctor's advice, she had migrated southward to the mild climate of Torquay.The change had proved to be of no avail; and, rather more than a year since, the child had died.The place where her darling was buried was a sacred place to her and she remained a resident at Torquay.Her position in the world was now a lonely one.She was herself an only child; her father and mother were both dead; and, excepting cousins, her one near relation left alive was a maternal uncle living in London.
These particulars were all related simply and unaffectedly before Mr.Carling ventured on the confession of his attachment.When he made his proposal of marriage, Mrs.Duncan received it with an excess of agitation which astonished and almost alarmed the inexperienced clergyman.As soon as she could speak, she begged with extraordinary earnestness and anxiety for a week to consider her answer, and requested Mr.Carling not to visit her on any account until the week had expired.
The next morning she and her maid departed for London.They did not return until the week for consideration had expired.On the eighth day Mr.Carling called again and was accepted.
The proposal to make the marriage as private as possible came from the lady.She had been to London to consult her uncle (whose health, she regretted to say, would not allow him to travel to Cornwall to give his niece away at the altar), and he agreed with Mrs.Duncan that the wedding could not be too private and unpretending.If it was made public, the family of her first husband would expect cards to be sent to them, and a renewal of intercourse, which would be painful on both sides, might be the consequence.Other friends in Scotland, again, would resent her marrying a second time at her age, and would distress her and annoy her future husband in many ways.She was anxious to break altogether with her past existence, and to begin a new and happier life untrammeled by any connection with former times and troubles.She urged these points, as she had received the offer of marriage, with an agitation which was almost painful to see.
This peculiarity in her conduct, however, which might have irritated some men, and rendered others distrustful, had no unfavorable effect on Mr.Carling.He set it down to an excess of sensitiveness and delicacy which charmed him.He was himself--though he never would confess it--a shy, nervous man by nature.Ostentation of any sort was something which he shrank from instinctively, even in the ******st affairs of daily life;and his future wife's proposal to avoid all the usual ceremony and publicity of a wedding was therefore more than agreeable to him--it was a positive relief.
The courtship was kept secret at Torquay, and the marriage was celebrated privately at Penliddy.It found its way into the local newspapers as a matter of course, but it was not, as usual in such cases, also advertised in the _Times_.Both husband and wife were equally happy in the enjoyment of their new life, and equally unsocial in taking no measures whatever to publish it to others.
Such was the story of the rector's marriage.Socially, Mr.
