“You do look sweet,” he told her.  “Now we must come——­” and he gave her his arm.  She took it with that grave look of a child acting in a very serious grown-up play.  She was perfectly delicious with her blooming youth and freshness and dimples—­her violet eyes shining like stars, and her red full lips pouting like appetizing ripe cherries.  Michael trembled a little as he felt her small hand upon his arm.

They walked to the altar rails and the ceremony began.

But, with the first words of the old clergyman’s voice, a new and unknown excitement came over Sabine.  The night and the gorgeous chapel and the candles and the flowers all affected her deeply, just as the grand feast days used to do at the convent.  A sudden realization of the mystery of things overcame her and frightened her, so that her voice was hardly audible as she repeated the clergyman’s words.

What were these vows she was making before God?  She dared not think—­the whole thing was a maze, a dream.  It was too late to run away—­but it was terrible—­she wanted to scream.

At last she felt her bridegroom place the ring upon her finger, now ice cold.

And then she was conscious that she was listening to these words: 

“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

After that she must have reeled a little, for she felt a strong arm encircle her waist for a moment.

Then she knew she was kneeling and that words of no meaning whatever were being buzzed over her head.

And lastly she was vividly awakened to burning consciousness by the first man’s kiss which had ever touched her innocent lips.

So she was married—­and this was her husband, this splendid, beautiful young man there beside her in his evening clothes—­and it was over—­and she was going away and would never see him again—­and what had she done?—­and would God be very angry?—­since it was all really in a church!

Her hand trembled as she wrote her name, Sabine Delburg, for the last time, and she was shivering all over as she walked back with her newly-made husband to his sitting-room through the gloomy corridor.  There it was all brilliant light again, the light of soft silk-shaded lamps—­and the center table was cleared and supper for two and opened champagne awaited them.  They were both very pale, and Sabine sat down in a chair.

“Mr. Fergusson will bring a copy of the certificate in a minute,” Michael said to her, “and then we can have some supper—­but now, come, we must drink each other’s healths.”

He poured out the wine into two glasses and handed her one.  She had never tasted champagne before—­but sipped it as she was bid.  It did not seem to her a very nice drink—­not to be compared to sirop aux fraises—­but she knew at weddings people always had champagne.

Michael gulped down a bumper, and it steadied his nerves and the fresh, vigorously healthy color came back to his face.  The whole situation had excited his every sense.