Hector, as ever, proved himself to be a friend in need, for, when the moment came for me to place a ring upon Mary’s finger, I realised with a pang that I had none. But Hector slipped one into my hesitating hand, whispering, "It was meant for the widda." The simple service was soon over, but ere he gave us his blessing the minister said: "In quieter times, when I, please God, am restored to my parish, your marriage will be registered in the records of my church at Minniehive: meantime I declare you man and wife in the sight of God and according to the laws of this realm." Then he raised his hand to bless us. I turned to embrace my wife; but Hector was before me. He kissed her loudly upon both cheeks, and as he yielded her shrinking form to me said: "Nae need o’ my salve there. They’re as saft as the damask rose." "For ever, dearest," I whispered, as she clung to me. "My ain dear man," she breathed; and on her warm cheek close pressed against my own I felt a tear. I folded her in my arms. "My children," said the minister, drawing near is, "I must leave you now, and get me back to my hiding-place: but may He who brought joy to the wedding feast at Cana of Galilee company with you all the days of your lives. Good-bye." He turned, and was gone. "Now," said Hector, "we maun hurry. We ha’e a lang road to travel afore daybreak. Come on." Together we began to hasten down the hill, and soon were at the edge of the river close to the mouth of the Cluden. The good wife of Nunholm and her husband led the way. I took Mary in my arms and carried her through the water behind them. No man ever bore a burden more precious. Her arms were about my neck. In mid-stream I paused and, bending, kissed her. I had forgotten Hector behind us. He sighed. "Ay. It mak’s me jealous. I wish the widda was here. But ye’ve a hale life-time o’ that afore ye, so haste ye, for we’re no oot o’ danger yet." Mary smiled proudly up at me in the moonlight. "Nae danger maitters noo. But let us haste." When we came to the bank on the other side, the farmer led the way to a hedge and we passed through a gap into a field across which we hurried together. In a few minutes we found ourselves beside a little farm-house. "Come awa’ ben," said the farmer’s wife, throwing the door open. "It’s no’ a very grand wedding feast, but it’ll dae to set you on the road, and it shall never be said that the guid-wife o’ Nunholm lacks in hospitality." We entered the kitchen and found an ample supper awaiting us. Mary had endeared herself, and little wonder, to these good folks during the two days she had spent with them, and they were full of anxiety for her safety. We made all the haste we could through the meal, and when it was nearly over the door was thrown wide to the wall and a shock-headed lad thrust his body in. The farmer turned to him: "Is a’ richt, Ebenezer?" he asked. "Ay, faither, there’s no’ a trooper between here and Dumfries."