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 strangest of them all, the ancient
church behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.

The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not