and attempting to make me a prisoner, seemed the only plan on the safety of which I could place the smallest reliance. If I had ever had any idea of following the example of other runaway lovers, and going to Gretna Green, I should now have abandoned it. All roads in that direction would betray what the purpose of my journey was if I took them. Some large town in Scotland would be the safest destination that I could publicly advertise myself as bound for. Why not boldly say that I was going with the two ladies to Edinburgh?
Such was the plan of action which I now adopted.
To give any idea of the distracted condition of my mind at the time when I was forming it, is simply impossible. As for doubting whether I ought to marry at all under these dangerous circumstances, I must frankly own that I was too selfishly and violently in love to look the question fairly in the face at first. When I subsequently forced myself to consider it, the most distinct project I could frame for overcoming all difficulty was, to marry myself (the phrase is strictly descriptive of the Scotch ceremony) at the first inn we came to, over the Border; to hire a chaise, or take places in a public conveyance to Edinburgh, as a blind; to let Alicia and Mrs. Baggs occupy those places; to remain behind myself; and to trust to my audacity and cunning, when left alone, to give the runner the slip. Writing of it now, in cool blood, this seems as wild and hopeless a plan as ever was imagined. But, in the confused and distracted state of all my faculties at that period, it seemed quite easy to execute, and not in the least doubtful as to any one of its probable results.
On reaching the town at which the coach stopped, we found ourselves obliged to hire another chaise for a short distance, in order to get to the starting-point of a second coach. Again we took inside places, and again, at the first stages when I got down to look at the outside passengers, there was the countryman with the green shade over his eye. Whatever conveyance we traveled by on our northward road, we never escaped him. He never attempted to speak to me, never seemed to notice me, and never lost sight of me. On and on we went, over roads that seemed interminable, and still the dreadful sword of justice hung always, by its single hair, over my head. My haggard face, my feverish hands, my confused manner, my inexpressible impatience, all belied the excuses with which I desperately continued to ward off Alicia's growing fears, and Mrs. Baggs's indignant suspicions. 'Oh! Frank, something has happened! For God's sake, tell me what!'—'Mr. Softly, I can see through a deal board as far as most people. You are following the doctor's wicked example, and showing a want of confidence in me.' These were the remonstrances of Alicia and the housekeeper.
At last we got out of England, and I was still a free man. The chaise (we were posting again) brought us into a dirty town, and drew up at the door of a shabby inn. A shock-headed girl received us.
'Are we in Scotland?' I asked.
'Mon! whar' else should ye be?' The accent relieved me of all doubt.
'A private room—something to eat, ready in an hour's time—chaise afterward to the nearest place from which a coach runs to Edinburgh.' Giving these orders rapidly, I followed the girl with my traveling companions into a stuffy little room. As soon as our attendant had left us, I locked the door, put the key in my pocket, and took Alicia by the hand.
'Now, Mrs. Baggs,' said I, 'bear witness—'
'You're not going to marry her now!' interposed Mrs. Baggs, indignantly. 'Bear witness, indeed! I won't bear witness till I've taken off my bonnet, and put my hair tidy!'
'The ceremony won't take a minute,' I answered; 'and I'll give you your five-pound note and open the door the moment it's over. Bear witness,' I went on, drowning Mrs. Baggs's expostulations with the all-important marriage- words, 'that I take this woman, Alicia Dulcifer for my lawful wedded wife.'
'In sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth,' broke in Mrs. Baggs, determining to represent the clergyman as well as to be the witness.
'Alicia, dear,' I said, interrupting in my turn, 'repeat my words. Say 'I take this man, Francis Softly, for my lawful wedded husband.''
She repeated the sentence, with her face very pale, with her dear hand cold and trembling in mine.
'For better for worse,' continued the indomitable Mrs. Baggs. 'Little enough of the Better, I'm afraid, and Lord knows how much of the Worse.'
I stopped her again with the promised five-pound note, and opened the room door. 'Now, ma'am,' I said, 'go to your room; take off your bonnet, and put your hair as tidy as you please.'
Mrs. Baggs raised her eyes and hands to heaven, exclaimed 'Disgraceful!' and flounced out of the room in a passion. Such was my Scotch marriage—as lawful a ceremony, remember, as the finest family wedding at the largest parish church in all England.
An hour passed; and I had not yet summoned the cruel courage to communicate my real situation to Alicia. The entry of the shock-headed servant-girl to lay the cloth, followed by Mrs. Baggs, who was never out of the way where eating and drinking appeared in prospect, helped me to rouse myself. I resolved to go out for a few minutes to reconnoiter, and make myself acquainted with any facilities for flight or hiding which the situation of the house might present. No doubt the Bow Street runner was lurking somewhere; but he must, as a matter of course, have heard, or informed himself, of the orders I had given relating to our conveyance on to Edinburgh; and, in that case, I was still no more in danger of his avowing himself and capturing me, than I had been at any previous period of our journey.
'I am going out for a moment, love, to see about the chaise,' I said to Alicia. She suddenly looked up at me with an anxious searching expression. Was my face betraying anything of my real purpose? I hurried to the door before she could ask me a single question.
The front of the inn stood nearly in the middle of the principal street of the town. No chance of giving any one the slip in that direction; and no sign, either, of the Bow Street runner. I sauntered round, with the most unconcerned manner I could assume, to the back of the house, by the inn yard. A door in one part of it stood half- open. Inside was a bit of kitchen-garden, bounded by a paling; beyond that some backs of detached houses; beyond them, again, a plot of weedy ground, a few wretched cottages, and the open, heathery moor. Good enough for running away, but terribly bad for hiding.
I returned disconsolately to the inn. Walking along the passage toward the staircase, I suddenly heard footsteps behind me—turned round, and saw the Bow Street runner (clothed again in his ordinary costume, and accompanied by two strange men) standing between me and the door.
'Sorry to stop you from going to Edinburgh, Mr. Softly,' he said. 'But you're wanted back at Barkingham. I've just found out what you have been traveling all the way to Scotland for; and I take you prisoner, as one of the coining gang. Take it easy, sir. I've got help, you see; and you can't throttle three men, whatever you may have done at Barkingham with one.'
