  The ceremony was a simple one, but the solemnity, which Mrs. Widdemere feared would be absent, seemed to be enhanced by the peaceful beauty of the surroundings. All was hushed, not a bird sang nor a breeze stirred as reverently the two, arrayed as gypsies spoke the sacred words that made them man and wife. Then, when the rector from St. Martin’s-by-the-Sea had kissed the bride and congratulated the radiant Robert, he departed, leaving the kinsfolk alone. Nan turned first of all toward the little old lady in the silvery grey gown, who was smiling through tears, and she said joyously, “Aunt Dahlia darling, instead of losing your gypsy girl you have gained a gypsy boy.” Then going to Mrs. Widdemere, Nan kissed her affectionately and said very softly, “Mother.” Then turning to Monsieur Alecsandri she asked gayly, “Uncle Basil, what do you think of your nephew? Is he not a good looking Romany rye?” That stately gentleman shook hands with Robert as he replied: “In Rumania there is not one who can excel him in manliness, and I know that he will care for my dear sister’s little girl as I would wish her cared for. I am indeed thankful, Elenan, that I arrived in time for your wedding. This afternoon I shall start on my homeward journey, hoping that in another year my niece and nephew, Mrs. Widdemere and Miss Barrington, will honor me with a long visit.” Then he added earnestly, “Elenan, always remember that your mother’s birthplace on the Danube River is as much your home as it is mine.” Then Mrs. Widdemere invited them through the gate in the hedge and, to their surprise, there on the other side, still under the spreading branches of the great old pepper tree, was a bare board table on which an appetizing lunch was spread gypsy-wise. It was one o’clock when the feast was over. Robert, for a moment alone with Nan, said softly, “Little wife, put on that old gypsy dress now, for at two we will start on our trip away for a fortnight.” The girl looked up with a radiant smile as she said, “It shall be done, my husband.” The intervening hour was a busy one, for Monsieur Alecsandri took his departure, and then Nan, with the help of Phyllis, packed the few things she would need. Hearing a soft footfall back of her, the gypsy girl whirled about and caught Miss Barrington in her arms and held her in a long, loving embrace. “I’m so happy, Aunt Dahlia, so happy,” she said, “and just think what I would have missed from my life if you had not wanted to keep that wild little gothlin five years ago. I would never have had you to love, nor my best friend,” the girl hesitated, and then with laughing eyes she added, “nor my husband.” “Hark!” Phyllis said. “I hear tinkling bells outside. What can it be?” “It’s a gypsy van,” Nan cried joyfully, “and Robert is driving. That is the surprise and surely a delightful one.” Five minutes later these two joyful gypsies started away in a covered wagon, two horses in the lead, and Binnie, and Robert’s saddle horse, Firefly, trailing behind. Phyllis was to remain with Aunt Dahlia during the fortnight and together they stood on the veranda waving until the gypsy van had turned into the highway. Nan looked up at the driver as she said happily, “Robert, this is a wonderful surprise.” Then she added with sudden wistfulness, “I wish Manna Lou might have been at our wedding, but Uncle Basil promised to tell her all about it and give her my grateful love.” They were slowly ascending the mountain road, and, when they reached the ridge, Robert drew to one side and stopped. “Nan comrade,” he said, “I want to climb to the top, for, somehow, it seems as though that peak must be our shrine for thanksgiving.” Then, when they reached the boulder where they had stood twice before, the lad took both of the girl’s hands and looking into the dark glowing eyes, he said, “Elenan may be a fine Rumanian lady, if she wishes, but the comrade whom I love and always shall love is my dear, brave little wife, Gypsy Nan.” Then together, hand in hand, they went down the trail and soon the tinkling of bells was heard as the gypsy van slowly crossed over the ridge and down another mountain road, where, at sunset, these two would make camp in a picturesque canyon called Happy Valley. |
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