Way Down East | Page 8

anguish and suspense. She
had thrashed out the question of her secret marriage to Sanderson till
her brain refused to work further, and there was in her mind only dread
and a haunting sense of loss. If she had only herself to consider, she
would not have hesitated a moment. But Sanderson, his father, and her
own mother were all involved.
Was she doing right by her mother? At times, the advantage to the
invalid accruing from this marriage seemed manifold. Again it seemed
to Anna but a senseless piece of folly, prompted by her own selfish
love for Sanderson. And so the days wore on until the eventful Friday
came, and Anna said good-bye to Mrs. Standish Tremont with livid

cheeks and tearful eyes.
"And do you feel so badly about going away, my dear?" said the great
lady, looking at those visible signs of distress and feeling not a little
flattered by her young cousin's show of affection. "We must have you
down soon again," and she patted Anna's cheek and hurried her into the
car, for Mrs. Tremont had a horror of scenes and signals warned her
that Anna was on the verge of tears.
The locomotive whistled, the cars gave a jolt, and Anna Moore was
launched on her tragic fate. She never knew how the time passed after
leaving Mrs. Tremont, till Sanderson joined her at the next station. She
felt as if her will power had deserted her, and she was dumbly obeying
the behests of some unseen relentless force. She looked at the strange
faces about her, hopelessly. Perhaps it was not too late---perhaps some
kind motherly woman would tell her if she were doing right. But they
all looked so strange and forbidding, and while she turned the question
over and over in her mind, the car stopped, the brakeman called the
station and Lennox Sanderson got on.
She turned to him in her utter perplexity, forgetting he was the cause of
it.
"My darling, how pale you are. Are you ill?"
"Not ill, but----" He would not let her finish, but reassured her by the
tenderest of looks, the warmest of hand clasps, and the terrified girl
began to lose the hunted feeling that she had.
They rode on for fully an hour. Sanderson was perfectly self-possessed.
He might have been married every day in the year, for any difference it
made in his demeanor. He was perfectly composed, laughed and
chatted as wittily as ever. In time, Anna partook of his mood and
laughed back. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her mind. At
last they stopped at a little station called Whiteford. An old-fashioned
carriage was waiting for them; they entered it and the driver, whipped
up his horses. A drive of a half mile brought them to an ideal white
cottage surrounded by porches and hidden in a tangle of vines. The

door was opened for them by the Rev. John Langdon in person. He
seemed a preternaturally grave young man to Anna and his clerical
attire was above reproach. Any misgivings one might have had
regarding him on the score of his youth, were more than
counterbalanced by his almost supernatural gravity.
He apologized for the absence of his wife, saying she had been called
away suddenly, owing to the illness of her mother. His housekeeper
and gardener would act as witnesses. Sanderson hastily took Anna to
one side and said: "I forgot to tell you, darling, that I am going to be
married by my two first names only, George Lennox. It is just the same,
but if the Sanderson got into any of those country marriage license
papers, I should be afraid the governor would hear of it--penalty of
having a great name, you know," he concluded gayly. "Thought I had
better mention it, as it would not do to have you surprised over your
husband's name."
Again the feeling of dread completely over-powered her. She looked at
him with her great sorrowful eyes, as a trapped animal will sometimes
look at its captor, but she could not speak. Some terrible blight seemed
to have overgrown her brain, depriving her of speech and willpower.
The witnesses entered. Anna was too agitated to notice that the Rev.
John Langdon's housekeeper was a very singular looking young woman
for her position. Her hair was conspicuously dark at the roots and
conspicuously light on the ends. Her face was hard and when she
smiled her mouth, assumed a wolfish expression. She was loudly
dressed and wore a profusion of jewelry--altogether a most remarkable
looking woman for the place she occupied.
The gardener had the appearance of having been suddenly wakened
before nature had had her full quota of sleep. He was blear-eyed and his
breath was