Nigel had drawn a little golden ring from his pocket,
and it twinkled in the torchlight.
"Did you say that you must go on your way to-morrow, father?" he
asked the priest.
"Indeed, fair son, the matter presses."
"But you may bide the morning?"
"It will suffice if I start at noon."
"Much may be done in a morning." He looked at Mary, who blushed
and smiled. "By Saint Paul! I have waited long enough."
"Good, good!" chuckled the old knight, with wheezy laughter.
"Even so I wooed your mother, Mary. Wooers were brisk in the
olden time. To-morrow is Tuesday, and Tuesday is ever a lucky
day. Alas! that the good Dame Ermyntrude is no longer with us to
see it done! The old hound must run us down, Nigel, and I hear
its bay upon my own heels; but my heart will rejoice that before
the end I may call you son. Give me your hand, Mary, and yours,
Nigel. Now, take an old man's blessing, and may God keep and
guard you both, and give you your desert, for I believe on my soul
that in all this broad land there dwells no nobler man nor any
woman more fitted to be his mate!"
There let us leave them, their hearts full of gentle joy, the
golden future of hope and promise stretching out before their
youthful eyes. Alas for those green spring dreaming! How often
do they fade and wither until they fall and rot, a dreary sight,
by the wayside of life! But here, by God's blessing, it was not
so, for they burgeoned and they grew, ever fairer and more noble,
until the whole wide world might marvel at the beauty of it.
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