It was very dark within. The windows were small and old, and filled with dusky glass, and the arches were low browed. Grisell’s mufflings were thrown aside, and she stood as became a maiden bride, with all her hair flowing over her shoulders and long tresses over her face, but even without this, her features would hardly have been visible, as the dense cloud rolled overhead; and indeed so tall and straight was her figure that no one would have supposed her other than a fair young spouse. She trembled a good deal, but was too much terrified and, as it were, stunned for tears, and she durst not raise her drooping head even to look at her bridegroom, though such light as came in shone upon his fair hair and was reflected on his armour, and on one golden spur that still he wore, the other no doubt lost in the fight. All was done regularly. The Lord of Whitburn was determined that no ceremony that could make the wedlock valid should be omitted. The priest, a kind old man, but of peasant birth, and entirely subservient to the Dacres, proceeded to ask each of the pair when they had been assoiled, namely, absolved. Grisell, as he well knew, had been shriven only last Friday; Leonard muttered, “Three days since, when I was dubbed knight, ere the battle.” “That suffices,” put in the Baron impatiently. “On with you, Sir Lucas.” The thoroughly personal parts of the service were in English, and Grisell could not but look up anxiously when the solemn charge was given to mention whether there was any lawful “letting” to their marriage. Her heart bounded as it were to her throat when Leonard made no answer. But then what lay before him if he pleaded his promise! It went on—those betrothal vows, dictated while the two cold hands were linked, his with a kind of limp passiveness, hers, quaking, especially as, in the old use of York, he took her “for laither for fairer”—laith being equivalent to loathly—“till death us do part.” And with failing heart, but still resolute heart, she faltered out her vow to cleave to him “for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness or health, and to be bonner (debonair or cheerful) and boughsome (obedient) till that final parting.” The troth was plighted, and the silver mark—poor Leonard’s sole available property at the moment—laid on the priest’s book, as the words were said, “with worldly cathel I thee endow,” and the ring, an old one of her mother’s, was held on Grisell’s finger. It was done, though, alas! the bridegroom could hardly say with truth, “with my body I thee worship.” Then followed the procession to the altar, the chilly hands barely touching one another, and the mass was celebrated, when Latin did not come home to the pair like English, though both fairly understood it. Grisell’s feeling was by this time concentrated in the one hope that she should be dutiful to the poor, unwilling bridegroom, far more to be pitied than herself, and that she should be guarded by God whatever befell.