her glittering beauty confused, then said--

"Fear not this hint of war in love's own hour," and he touched his
shining armour. "Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy,
and some might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;" and
bowing before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house,
Emlyn walking behind them and the men with torches going before and
following after.

Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the
steely sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge
of the world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that
bordered the moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter
evening song, while about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the
daws still wheeled.

The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no
note, always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of
snow, the inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the
dull glow of the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her
lover's mail, the midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant
hound, the black porch of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong
mounds which hid the bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as
infants, as bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things
that had been men and women.

Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them
like a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short
as had been the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread