‘With this ring I thee wed,’ said Frank, ’and with my body I thee worship (he paused, and made a mental emendation of ’with my soul also’), and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’

There was a prayer, and then the vicar joined the two hands, the muscular sunburned one and the dainty white one, with the new ring gleaming upon it.

‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,’ said he.  ’Forasmuch as Francis Crosse and Maude Selby have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together.’

There now, it was done!  They were one, never more to part until the coffin-lid closed over one or the other.  They were kneeling together now, and the vicar was rapidly repeating some psalms and prayers.  But Frank’s mind was not with the ritual.  He looked slantwise at the graceful, girlish figure by his side.  Her hair hung beautifully over her white neck, and the reverent droop of her head was lovely to his eyes.  So gentle, so humble, so good, so beautiful, and all his, his sworn life-companion for ever!  A gush of tenderness flowed through his heart for her.  His love had always been passionate, but, for the instant, it was heroic, tremendous in its unselfishness.  Might he bring her happiness, the highest which woman could wish for!  God grant that he might do so!  But if he were to make her unhappy, or to take anything from her beauty and her goodness, then he prayed that he might die now, at this supreme moment, kneeling at her side before the altar rails.  So intense was his prayer that he looked up expectantly at the altar, as if in the presence of an imminent catastrophe.  But every one had risen to their feet, and the service was at an end.  The vicar led the way, and they all followed him, into the vestry.  There was a general murmur all round them of congratulation and approval.

‘Heartiest congratulations, Crosse!’ said Hale.

‘Bravo, Maude, you looked ripping!’ cried Jack, kissing his sister.  ‘By Jove, it simply went with a buzz from the word “go."’

‘You sign it here and here,’ said the vicar, ’and the witnesses here and here.  Thank you very much.  I am sure that I wish you every happiness.  I need not detain you by any further formality.’

And so, with a curious dream-like feeling, Frank Crosse and Maude found themselves walking down the aisle, he very proud and erect, she very gentle and shy, while the organ thundered the wedding-march.  Carriages were waiting:  he handed in his wife, stepped in after her, and they drove off, amidst a murmur of sympathy from a little knot of idlers who had gathered in the porch, partly from curiosity, and partly to escape the rain.

Maude had often driven alone with Frank before, but now she felt suddenly constrained and shy.  The marriage-service, with all its half-understood allusions and exhortations, had depressed and frightened her.  She hardly dared to glance at her husband.  But he soon led her out of her graver humour.