The Law and the Lady | Page 3

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[Prepared by John Hamm and James Rusk ([email protected]).
Italics are indicated by underscores.]

The Law and the Lady
by Wilkie Collins

NOTE:

ADDRESSED TO THE READER.
IN offering this book to you, I have no Preface to write. I have only to
request that you will bear in mind certain established truths, which
occasionally escape your memory when you are reading a work of
fiction. Be pleased, then, to remember (First): That the actions of
human beings are not invariably governed by the laws of pure reason.
(Secondly): That we are by no means always in the habit of bestowing
our love on the objects which are the most deserving of it, in the
opinions of our friends. (Thirdly and Lastly): That Characters which
may not have appeared, and Events which may not have taken place,
within the limits of our own individual experience, may nevertheless be
perfectly natural Characters and perfectly probable Events, for all that.
Having said these few words, I have said all that seems to be necessary
at the present time, in presenting my new Story to your notice.
W. C.
LONDON, February 1, 1875.

THE LAW AND THE LADY.
PART I.
PARADISE LOST.
CHAPTER I.
THE BRIDE'S MISTAKE.
"FOR after this manner in the old time the holy women also who
trusted in God adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own
husbands; even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose
daughters ye are as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any
amazement."
Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those

well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and
looked at me across the altar rails with a hearty expression of interest
on his broad, red face. At the same time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather,
standing by my side, tapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said,
"Valeria, you are married!"
Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too
bewildered to know. I started and looked at my new husband. He
seemed to be almost as much bewildered as I was. The same thought
had, as I believe, occurred to us both at the same moment. Was it really
possible--in spite of his mother's opposition to our marriage--that we
were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a
second tap on my shoulder.
"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all
patience with me.
I took his arm.
"Follow your uncle."
Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed my uncle and the curate
who had assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the
dreary quarters of London, situated between the City and the West End;
the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a
melancholy little wedding party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood
and the dull day. No relatives or friends of my husband's were present;
his family, as I have already hinted, disapproved of his marriage.
Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side. I
had lost both my parents, and I had but few friends. My dear father's
faithful old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to "give me away,"
as the phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn
position, he was as good as a father to me.
The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the

marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence
of any information to guide me) I committed a mistake--ominous, in
my aunt Starkweather's opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married
instead of my