They were to enter the ceremonial temple at high noon and in their ears
were to be the sound of timbrels and brass, trumpets and drums and the
glad though raucous songs of a kingdom.

Early in the day Tennys Huntingford submitted herself to be arrayed for
the ceremony by her proud, jealous maidens. She remained alone and
obscure in her chamber, awaiting the moment when King Pootoo should come
for her. Her gown was of the purest white. It was her own handiwork, the
loving labor of months. True, it would have looked odd in St. James or
in the cathedral, but no bride ever walked to those chancels in more
becoming raiment--no bride was ever more beautiful, no woman ever more
to be coveted. Her heart was singing with love and joy; the dreams of
months were coming true in these strangely wakeful hours.

Ridgeway wandered nervously through the village, watching the sun as it
crept nearer and nearer to the middle of its daily reign--would the
minutes never end? Why had the sun stopped in its course across the sky?
Why was time so tantalizing?

At last! The sudden clangor of weird instruments filled his ears. He
held his hand to his throbbing heart as he turned his gaze toward the
door through which she was to come.

Inside the great temple the people of Nedra were singing and chanting
with anticipant joy; outside the world was smiling benignly. All Nedra
gathered about the circle of earth in which Tennys Huntingford was to
cast herself at the feet of her husband and lord for all time.

Hugh had not seen her since the night before, and his eyes were starving