“Never mind me, then, _Mein Herr_, I will hold to the pommel,” she responded valiantly, and Cyril set his teeth hard and urged the horses on. In some wonderful way his companion managed to keep her seat, and, with the help of a few directions from him, got on better than he had expected, although he still muttered wrathfully to himself that he was thankful there was no one about to see him giving riding-lessons to a _sack_! Slowly the long miles were covered, and midnight had passed when the riders entered the courtyard of the Prince of Dardania’s palace, which Cyril had already visited with Caerleon. Here all was bustle, servants bearing torches were ranged on either side of the door, and Prince Alexis himself hastened anxiously forward to receive his bride, who slipped from her horse into his arms with a hysterical laugh. “It has been almost too much!” Cyril heard her say, as the Prince led her up the steps, and it struck him that she had visibly increased in height since his first glimpse of her in the castle garden. “I’ve heard of people who got two inches taller owing to the consciousness of success, but I never saw it happen before,” he said to himself, as he gave the horses into the charge of a servant, and allowed himself to be conducted into the palace by a bowing official. The door opened into a great hall, through which Prince Alexis had just led his bride into a side room, where Cyril had a momentary view of a number of Dardanian ladies, evidently of high rank, gathering around their future Princess; but his guide conducted him through a long passage into a chapel, where everything was in readiness for the celebration of the Greek marriage-rite. The space on one side of the aisle was filled with Dardanian chiefs and nobles, splendid-looking men in gorgeous national costumes; and as Cyril was ushered to his place among them, he wondered how long it would be before a similar throng was gathered together for Caerleon’s wedding, and how many different religious ceremonies it would take to marry him. He had abundant opportunity for meditation, for the Lutheran rite was proceeding in another room; but after a while the vacant seats on the other side of the chapel were filled by the ladies of whom he had caught a glimpse, and the bride and bridegroom entered, and advanced up the aisle. The lady’s face was hidden by an elaborate lace veil, and Cyril felt a momentary curiosity as to the means by which she had managed to bring it with her; but his attention was soon distracted to more important details. The half-married bride was undoubtedly taller than she had appeared in the garden, and carried herself regally; and as Cyril gazed at her by the flickering light of the lamps burning before the sacred pictures and on the dais, it struck him that she was otherwise altered. Fräulein von Staubach was fair, but he was almost certain that this girl’s knot of hair was dark; and when she turned