was already hurrying to shake hands with Maude.  He walked up on her right, and they took their position in two little groups, the happy couple in the centre.  At the same moment the clang of the church-clock sounded above them, and the vicar, shrugging his shoulders to get his white surplice into position, came bustling out of the vestry.  To him it was all the most usual, commonplace, and unimportant thing in the world, and both Frank and Maude were filled with amazement at the nonchalant way in which he whipped out a prayer-book, and began to rapidly perform the ceremony.  It was all so new and solemn and all-important to them, that they had expected something mystic and overpowering in the function, and yet here was this brisk little man, with an obvious cold in his head, tying them up in as business-like a fashion as a grocer uniting two parcels.  After all, he had to do it a thousand times a year, and so he could not be extravagant in his emotions.

The singular service was read out to them, the exhortations, and the explanations, sometimes stately, sometimes beautiful, sometimes odious.  Then the little vicar turned upon Frank—­’Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?  Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her as long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will,’ cried Frank, with conviction.

’And wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?  Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will,’ said Maude, from her heart.

‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’

‘I do.  Mr. John Selby—­her father, you know.’

And then in turn they repeated the fateful words—­’I take thee to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.’

‘Ring!  Ring!’ said Hale.

‘Ring, you Juggins!’ whispered Jack Selby.

Frank thrust his hands frantically into all his pockets.  The ring was in the last one which he attempted.  But the bank-note was not to be found.  He remembered that he had put it in some safe place.  Where could it have been?  Was it in his boot, or in the lining of his hat?  No, surely he could not have done anything so infatuated.  Again he took his pockets two at a time, while a dreadful pause came in the ceremony.

‘Vestry—­afterwards,’ whispered the clergyman.

‘Here you are!’ gasped Frank.  He had come upon it in a last desperate dive into his watch-pocket, in which he never by any chance kept anything.  Of course it was for that very reason, that it might be alone and accessible, that he had placed it there.  Ring and note were handed to the vicar, who deftly concealed the one and returned the other.  Then Maude’s little white hand was outstretched, and over the third finger Frank slipped the circlet of gold.