ted in his first battle? Look at the
clock! there are but seven minutes to the stroke of the celibate hours:
the veteran is surely lifting his two hands to deliver fire, and his
shot will sunder them in twain so nearly united. All the jewellers of
London speeding down with sacks full of the nuptial circlet cannot save
them!

The battle must be won on the field, and what does the hero now? It is
an inspiration! For who else would dream of such a reserve in the
rear? None see what he does; only that the black-satin bunch is
remonstratingly agitated, stormily shaken, and subdued: and as though
the menacing cloud had opened, and dropped the dear token from the skies
at his demand, he produces the symbol of their consent, and the service
proceeds: "With this ring I thee wed."

They are prayed over and blest. For good, or for ill, this deed is
done. The names are registered; fees fly right and left: they thank,
and salute, the curate, whose official coolness melts into a smile of
monastic gallantry: the beadle on the steps waves off a gaping world
as they issue forth bridegroom and bridesman recklessly scatter gold on
him: carriage doors are banged to: the coachmen drive off, and the scene
closes, everybody happy.

CHAPTER XXX

And the next moment the bride is weeping as if she would dissolve to one
of Dian's Virgin Fountains from the clasp of the Sun-God. She has nobly
preserved the mask imposed by comedies, till the curtain has fallen, and
now she weeps, streams with tears. Have patience, O impetuous young man!
It is your profession to be a hero. This poor heart is new to it, and
her duties involve such wild acts, such brigandage, such terrors and
tasks, she is quite unnerved. She did you honour till now. Bear with her
now. She does not cry the cry of ordinary maidens in like cases. While
the struggle went on her tender face was brave; but, alas! Omens are
against her: she holds an ever-present dreadful one on that fatal fourth
finger of hers, which has coiled itself round her dream of delight, and
takes her in its clutch like a horrid serpent. And yet she must love it.
She dares not part from it. She must love and hug it, and feed on its
strange honey, and all the bliss it gives her casts all the deeper
shadow on what is to come.

Say: Is it not enough to cause feminine apprehension, for a woman to be
married in another woman's ring?

You are amazons, ladies, at Saragossa, and a thousand citadels--wherever
th