me only. Swear it, Stella."

"Come to this altar," she said, when she had thought a moment, "and give
me your hand--so. Now, before my Maker and the Presences who surround
us, I marry you, Morris Monk. Not in the flesh--with your flesh I have
nothing to do--but in the spirit. I take your soul to mine, I give my
soul to yours; yours it was from its birth's day, yours it is, and when
it ceases to be yours, let it perish everlastingly."

"So be it to both of us, for ever and for ever," he answered.

This, then, was their marriage, and as they walked hand in hand away
from the ancient altar, which surely had never seen so strange a rite,
there returned to Morris an idle fantasy which had entered his mind at
this very spot when they landed one morning half-frozen after that night
in the open boat. But he said nothing of it; for with the memory came
a recollection of certain wandering words which that same day fell from
Stella's lips, words at the thought of which his spirit thrilled and his
flesh shuddered. What if she were near it, or he were near it, or both
of them? What if this solemn ceremony of marriage mocked, yet made
divine, had taken place upon the very threshold of its immortal
consummation? She read his thought and answered:

"Remember always, far and near, it is the same thing; time is nothing;
this oath of ours cannot be touched by time or earthly change."

"I will remember," he answered.

What more did they say? He never could be sure, nor does it matter, for
what is written bears its gist.

"Go away first," she said presently; "I promised your father that I
would bring no further trouble on you, so we must not be seen together.
Go now, for the gale is rising fast and the darkness grows."

"This is hard to bear," he muttered, setting his teeth. "Are you sure
that we shall not meet again in after years?"

"Sure. You look your last upon me, on the earthly Stella whom you know
and love."

"It must be done," he said.

"It must be done," she echoed. "Good-bye, husband, till that appointed
hour of meeting when I may call you so without shame," and she held out
her hand.

He took and pressed it; speak he could not. Then, like a man stricken in
years, he passed down the church with bent head and shambling feet. At
the door he turned to look at her. She was standing erect and proud as a
conqueror, her hand resting upon the altar. Even at that distance their
eyes met, and in hers, lit with a wild and sudd