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Simon’s Hour
by
“Simon,” said Lord Rokesle, “Lady Allonby is about to make me the happiest of men. Have you a prayer-book about you, Master Parson?–for here’s a loving couple desirous of entering the blessed state of matrimony.”
“The match is somewhat of the suddenest,” said Simon Orts. “But I have known these impromptu marriages to turn out very happily–very happily, indeed.” he repeated, rubbing his hands together, and smiling horribly. “I gather that Mr. Heleigh will not grace the ceremony with his presence?”
They understood each other, these two. Lord Rokesle grinned, and in a few words told the ecclesiastic of the trick which had insured the absence of the other guests; and Simon Orts also grinned, but respectfully,–the grin, of the true lackey wearing his master’s emotions like his master’s clothes, at second-hand.
“A very pretty stratagem,” said Simon Orts; “unconventional, I must confess, but it is proverbially known that all’s fair in love.”
At this Lady Allonby came to him, catching his hand. “There is only you, Simon. Oh, there is no hope in that lustful devil yonder. But you are not all base, Simon. You are a man,–ah, God! if I were a man I would rip out that devil’s heart–his defiled and infamous heart! I would trample upon it, I would feed it to dogs–!” She paused. Her impotent fury was jerking at every muscle, was choking her. “But I am only a woman. Simon, you used to love me. You cannot have forgotten, Simon. Oh, haven’t you any pity on a woman? Remember, Simon–remember how happy we were! Don’t you remember how the night-jars used to call to one another when we sat on moonlit evenings under the elm-tree? And d’ye remember the cottage we planned, Simon?–where we were going to live on bread and cheese and kisses? And how we quarrelled because I wanted to train vines over it? You said the rooms would be too dark. You said–oh, Simon, Simon! if only I had gone to live with you in that little cottage we planned and never builded!” Lady Allonby was at his feet now. She fawned upon him in somewhat the manner of a spaniel expectant of a thrashing.
The Vicar of Heriz Magna dispassionately ran over the leaves of his prayer-book, till he had found the marriage service, and then closed the book, his forefinger marking the place. Lord Rokesle stood apart, and with a sly and meditative smile observed them.
“Your plea is a remarkable one,” said Simon Orts. “As I understand it, you appeal to me to meddle in your affairs on the ground that you once made a fool of me. I think the obligation is largely optional. I remember quite clearly the incidents to which you refer; and it shames even an old sot like me to think that I was ever so utterly at the mercy of a good-for-nothing jilt. I remember every vow you ever made to me, Anastasia, and I know they were all lies. I remember every kiss, every glance, every caress–all lies, Anastasia! And gad! the only emotion it rouses in me is wonder as to why my worthy patron here should want to marry you. Of course you are wealthy, but, personally, I would not have you for double the money. I must ask you to rise, Lady Rokesle.–Pardon me if I somewhat anticipate your title.”
Lady Allonby stumbled to her feet. “Is there no manhood in the world?” she asked, with a puzzled voice. “Has neither of you ever heard of manhood, though but as distantly as men hear summer thunder? Had neither of you a woman for a mother–a woman, as I am–or a father who was not–O God!–not as you are?”
“These rhetorical passages,” said Lord Rokesle, “while very elegantly expressed, are scarcely to the point. So you and Simon went a-philandering once? Egad, that lends quite a touch of romance to the affair. But despatch, Parson Simon,–your lady’s for your betters now.”