Mr. Dean was a handsome old man with white hair, and he took our hands
most kindly.

"My friend here," he said, smiling at my Lord Advocate, "tells me that
he has not left very much for me to do from a legal point of view. But I
look upon marriage as a sacrament, and though the bridegroom is not, as
I hear, of our communion, I have no difficulty in acceding to the
request of my Lord--especially since our good Lady Frances has deigned
to be present as a near relative of the bride."

He called something into a sort of stone tube. Then bidding us to be
seated, he went into another room to array himself in his surplice, from
which, presently, he came out, holding a service-book in his hand.

We followed him down-stairs--I with Lady Frances on my arm, the Lord
Advocate preceding us with Irma, whom he was to give away. He appeared
to take quite a boyish interest in the whole affair, from which I
augured the best for our future.

We were rather hampered at the turning of the stair, and had to drop
into single file again, when Irma clutched suddenly at my hand, and in
the single moment we had together in the dusk, she whispered, "Oh, I am
so glad!"

Lady Frances told me as we passed into the little half-underground
chapel, low and barrel-shaped as to the roof, with the candles ready
alight on the altar, that all this secrecy had come down from the time
when the service according to the Episcopal form had been strictly
forbidden in Edinburgh--at least in any open way.

I cannot describe what followed. I must have stood like a dummy,
muttering over what I was prompted to say. But the responses came to
Irma's lips as if she had many times rehearsed them--which perhaps was
the case--I know now that she had always kept her father's King Edward
prayer-book, and read it when alone. We stood by the rails of what I now
know to have been the altar. All about was hung with deep crimson, and
the heavy curtains were looped back with golden cord. A kind of glory
shone behind the altar, in the midst of which appeared, in Hebrew
letters, the name of God. Irma, who was far more self-possessed than I,
found time to wonder and even to ask me what it meant. And I,
translating freely (for I had picked up somewhat of that language from
Freddy Esquillant), said, "Thou, God, seest me."

Which, at any rate, if not exactly correct, was true and apt enough.

"Well, are you well married now, babes?" said the Advocate, and I tried
to answer him a