A coolie called the foreign-born woman away.

The priest, in his tight trousers, and jacket, black and covered with a multitude of round flat buttons, stood up, and led the way into the house and down a long corridor to a closed door at the end.  Dong-Yung hurried behind the two men.  At the door the priest stood aside and held it open for her to pass in first.  She hesitated.  Foh-Kyung nodded.

“Do not think fearful things, little Princess,” he whispered.  “Enter, and be not afraid.  There is no fear in the worship of Jesus.”

So Dong-Yung crossed the threshold first.  Something caught her breath away, just as the chanting of the dragon priests always did.  She took a few steps forward and stood behind a low-backed bench.  Before her, the light streamed into the little chapel through one luminous window of coloured glass above the altar.  It lay all over the grey-tiled floor in roses and sunflowers of pink and god.  A deep purple stripe fell across the head of the black-robed priest.  Dong-Yung was glad of that.  It made his robe less hideous, and she could not understand how one could serve a god unless in beautiful robes.  On the altar beneath the window of coloured flowers were two tall silver candlesticks, with smooth white tapers.  A wide-mouthed vase filled with Chinese lilies stood between them.  The whole chapel was faintly fragrant with their incense.  So even the foreign-born worshipers lit candles, and offered the scent of the lilies to their spirit God.  Truly, all the gods of all the earth and in the sky are lovers of lit candles and flowers.  Also, one prays to all gods.

The place was very quiet and peaceful, mottled with the gorgeous, flowerlike splashes of colour.  The waiting candles, the echoes of many prayers, the blossom of worship filled the tiny chapel.  Dong-Yung liked it, despite herself, despite the strangeness of the imageless altar, despite the clothes of the priest.  She stood quite still behind the bench flooded and filled with an all-pervading sense of happiness.

Foh-Kyung and the black-robed priest walked past her, down the little aisle, to a shiny brass railing that went like a fence round before the altar.  The foreign-born priest laid one hand on the railing as if to kneel down, but Foh-Kyung turned and beckoned with his chin to Dong-Yung to come.  She obeyed at once.  She was surprisingly unafraid.  Her feet walked through the patterns of colour, which slid over her head and hands, gold from the gold of a cross and purple from the robe of a king.  As if stepping through a rainbow, she came slowly down the aisle to the waiting men, and in her heart and in her eyes lay the light of all love and trust.

Foh-Kyung caught her hand.

“See, I take her hand,” he said to the priest, “even as you would take the hand of your wife, proud and unashamed in the presence of your God.  Even as your love is, so shall ours be.  Where the thoughts of my heart lead, the heart of my small wife follows.  Give us your blessing.”