. The
moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of
them, turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in
marble upon the tomb at their side.

All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes
of a long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and
kindly interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too
small was thrust upon her finger--all the rest of her life that ring
hurt her at times, but she would have never it moved, and then some
one was kissing her. At first she thought it must be her father, and
remembering, nearly wept till she heard Christopher's voice calling her
wife, and knew that she was wed.

Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him,
writing something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of
her birth and her full name, which, as he had been present at her
christening, she thought strange. Then her husband signed the book,
using the altar as a table, not very easily for he was no great scholar,
and she signed also in her maiden name for the last time, and the priest
signed, and at his bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed
too. Next, as though by an afterthought, Father Roger called several of
the congregation, who rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses.
While they did so he explained to them that, as the circumstances
were uncommon, it was well that there should be evidence, and that
he intended to send copies of this entry to sundry dignities, not
forgetting the holy Father at Rome.

On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
nave and out of Cicely's mind.

So it was done at last.

Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid
it away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked
the oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off
through the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and
hot beer. Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked
silently arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing
the bride, had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony
to its countless record, perhaps the stranges