The present wedding was more cheery than most, however. Roscoria was fairly cool, but that was partly because he had not been able to afford a new coat for the auspicious occasion. Lyndis, to be sure, thought she was marrying (unlike the generality of brides) a man she loved, and this, moreover, in defiance of her guardian's wishes--a circumstance which must have lent an additional charm to the deed--Lyndis stood looking white, white and terrified; all her own rashness and the inevitable uncertainty of her future filling her thoughts. Her head was bent and her fingers clasped, and nervously bent back; she was retaining every atom of her self-control, but saying what she had to say mechanically, with a low voice, like the echo of her own sighing through cloister aisles. "Cheer up, my darling!" said Louis in an audible whisper, just as the clergyman opened his mouth. "Dearly beloved--_hush!_" began Eric Rodda; and even Lyndis, with all her chastened "amazement," could not resist a smile. Tregurtha had given the bride away; Roscoria had at last found the ring, wrapped carefully up in his fly-book; names had been duly signed with atrocious pens in the vestry; and the bridegroom saluted the bride. But to do this last it was not essential to call in the verger as a witness, so the young people left Tregurtha and Rodda behind and took a merry run in the sunshine, down-hill toward the village. And as they danced along on the dewy grass, with their arms interlaced and their laughing improvident young faces upturned one to the other, they turned a sharp corner and Lyndis gave a little scream of horror, for she had nearly fallen into the arms of the admiral! As long as he lives Roscoria swears, he shall never forget how he was feeling whilst Lyndis shrank back with outstretched averting hands, exclaiming tremulously: "My dearest uncle! this--this is an unexpected pleasure!" "Lyndis Villiers--you wretched woman." "You are twenty minutes behind the times, Sir John," interrupted Roscoria, stepping in front of the lady. "Lyndis is Mrs. Roscoria." "Have you married her?" gasped the admiral, still too much done for even to swear. "I--I--did--I have. Oh, Rodda!" appealed the bridegroom, as the curate came up with Tregurtha, "fetch the admiral the certificate, and beg him to be calm for the sake of Lyndis!" It was evident that the admiral was in great perplexity. He saw he was too late. "And _you_ permitted this, you scoundrel!" he roared, turning upon Tregurtha with fury. Richard flushed up; he had been afraid of this. He simply saluted and said, humbly: "I can only ask your pardon, sir; we have all behaved very badly."