“You are not to call me that!” She rounded upon him suddenly, a fierce gleam in her eyes.  “You must never—­never—­”

She broke off.  He was close to her, with that on his face that stilled her protest.  He gathered her to him with a tenderness that yet was irresistible.

“Sure, then,” he whispered, with a whimsical humour that cloaked all deeper feeling, “you shall be my queen instead, for by the saints I swear that in some form or other I was created to be your slave.”

And though she averted her face and after a moment withdrew herself from his arms, she raised no further protest.  She suffered him to plant the flag of his supremacy unhindered.

VIII

Certainly the colonel’s wife was in her element.  A wedding in the regiment, and that the wedding of its idolized hero, was to her an affair of almost more importance than anything that had happened since her own.  The church had been fully decorated under her directions, and she had turned it into as elegant a reception room as circumstances permitted.  White favours had been distributed to the dusky warriors under Hone’s command who lined the aisle.  All was in readiness, from the bridegroom, resplendent in scarlet and gold, waiting in the chancel with Teddy Duncombe, the best man, to the buzzing guests who swarmed in at the west door to be received by the colonel’s wife, who in her capacity of hostess seemed to be everywhere at once.

“She was quite ready when I left, and looking sweet,” so ran the story to one after another.  “Oh, yes, in her travelling dress, of course.  That had to be.  But quite bridal—­the palest silver grey.  She looks quite charming, and such a girl.  No one would ever think—­” and so on, to innumerable acquaintances, ending where she had begun—­“yes, she was quite ready when I left, and looking sweet!”

Ready or not, she was undoubtedly late, as is the recognised custom of brides all the world over.  The organist, who had been playing an impressive selection, was drawing to the end of his resources and beginning to improvise somewhat spasmodically.  The bridegroom betrayed no impatience, but there was undeniable strain in his attitude.  He stood stiff and motionless as a soldier on parade.  The guests were commencing to peer and wonder.  Mrs. Chester made her tenth pilgrimage to the door.

Ah!  The carriage at last!  She turned back with a beaming face, and rustled up the aisle as though she were the heroine of the occasion.  A flutter of expectation went through the church.  The organist plunged abruptly into “The Voice that Breathed o’er Eden.”

Everyone rose.  Everyone craned towards the door.  The carriage, with its flying favours, was stopping, had stopped.  The colonel was seen descending.

He was looking very pale, whispered someone.  Could anything be wrong?  He was not wont to suffer from nervousness.