“Why?” asked the minister, gravely.

“Because I don’t want to promise anything I don’t intend to do.”

“Put it in for me,” suggested Allan, cheerfully.  “I might as well promise, for I’ll have to do it anyway.”

Gradually, the hush and solemnity of the church banished the light mood.  A new joy, deeper, and more lasting, took the place of laughter as they sat in the front pew, reading over the service.  Barbara and Roger sat together, half way down to the door.  Neither had spoken since they entered the church.

A shaft of golden light lay full upon Eloise’s face.  In that moment, before they went to the altar, Allan was afraid of her, she seemed so angelic, so unreal.  But the minister was waiting, with his open book.  “Come,” said Allan, in a whisper, and she rose, smiling, to follow him, not only then, but always.

[Sidenote:  The Ceremony]

“Dearly Beloved,” began the minister, “we are gathered here together in the sight of God and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”  He went on through the beautiful service, while the light streamed in, bearing its fairy freight of colour and gold, and the swift patter of the Little People of the Forest rustled through the drifting leaves.

It was all as Eloise had chosen, even to the two who sat far back, with their hands clasped, as wide-eyed as children before this sacred merging of two souls into one.

A little brown bird perched on the threshold, chirped a few questioning notes, then flew away to his own nest.  Acorns fell from the oaks across the road, and the musical hum and whir of Autumn came faintly from the fields.  The taper lights burned in the sunshine like yellow stars.

“That ye may so live together in this life,” the minister was saying, “that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting.  Amen.”

[Sidenote:  After the Ordeal]

It was over in an incredibly brief space of time.  When they came down the aisle, Allan had the satisfied air of a man who has just emerged, triumphantly, through his own skill, from a very difficult and dangerous ordeal.  Eloise was radiant, for her heart was singing within her a splendid strophe of joy.

When Barbara and Roger went to meet them, the strange, new shyness that had settled down upon them both effectually hindered conversation.  Roger began an awkward little speech of congratulation, which immediately became inarticulate and ended in silent embarrassment.

But Allan wrung Roger’s hand in a mighty grip that made him wince, and Eloise smiled, for she saw more than either of them had yet guessed.  “You’re kids,” she said, fondly; “just dear, foolish kids.”  Impulsively, she kissed them both, then they all went out into the sunshine again.

The minister’s eyes followed them with a certain wistfulness, for he was young, and, as yet, the great miracle had not come to him.  He sighed when he put out the tapers and closed the door that divided him from the music of Autumn and one great, overwhelming joy.