Myles ever know more of the
secret of her life than in that one supreme moment he read in her
steadfast eyes.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A MILITARY WEDDING.

"And thou 'rt not amazed, Elsie, that our captain and his kinswoman will
wed?" asked Governor Bradford of his wife in the privacy of the family
bedroom.

"No more than at the sun's rising in the East," replied Alice with a
demure little smile.

"Hm! Master Galileo saith the sun riseth not at all, and though the
power of Rome caused him to gainsay it, he did tell me privily in
Amsterdam that it was sooth, and the sun bided forever in the one place
while this round world turned over daily."

"I ever thought the good man was a little crazed," replied Mistress
Bradford serenely. "Like Paul, much learning had made him mad."

"Nay wife, 't was Festus charged Paul with madness, because the apostle
knew more than himself. Haply 't is so with Master Galileo."

"It may be, William. These be not matters for women to meddle withal,"
replied Alice meekly.

"But anent our captain's wooing of his cousin, Elsie? How is 't thou 'rt
not amazed like the rest of us?"

"Because I saw long since that Barbara would never wed another than her
cousin, and thou knowest, Will, how like draws to like, even across the
waste of ocean."

"Ay dame, I know it well and sweetly, and never shall I forget to give
thanks to Him whose wisdom reacheth from end to end, sweetly ordering
all things. But how chanced Mistress Barbara to confess her fondness to
thee, sweetheart?"

"Nay now! Though men do be our masters in most things, how dull they
still show themselves in others. As if a maid, or for that matter a
widow, would ever 'confess her fondness' for any man till he had wooed
her so to do, and but coyly then, if she be wise."

"Too coyly for him to credit her with overmuch tenderness," suggested
the bridegroom.

"Facts speak louder than words, and if a woman will set herself upon far
and perilous journeys, and compass sea and land to come to him who
calleth her, methinks he need not doubt her friendship for him. Nay now,
nay now, we talk of Barbara and the Captain, and I'll tell thee. Since I
was left alone in London,--so lonely too in my wide house in Duke's
Place,--I have taken dear and sweet counsel with Barbara, whom I first
knew in the congregation of Pastor Jacob, and she hath been my guest for
weeks and months at a time, so that if any two women know each other
well, their nam