And something about Lawrence seemed to match them, when at last he came. A veiled light in his eyes, as of some hidden joy swelling to bursting point. A light gaiety of manner. He walked into the dispensary, and laughed at the bottles, telling her it was the untidiest dispensary in London, and he was quite sure all her prescriptions included an appalling supply of microbes. She tried to laugh lightly back, but she could not meet his eyes. Something in his manner—something quite new—unnerved her. He seemed perfectly well again, except for the slung arm, and when she inquired after that, he only said: “Oh, it will soon be equal to its work, and, anyhow, the other is strong enough now for two.” And then he looked into her eyes and laughed a humorous, teasing, tender little laugh, adding: “Come along. I’ve an appointment I mustn’t miss.” She was conscious of a sudden dampening. Then he was going to see some one else. Her company was not sufficient in itself. He said something to the chauffeur, and they sped away, out through Acton and Ealing into the country, and made a wide circuit, and came back to Richmond. At half-past twelve they drew up before a quaint old-fashioned church, and the chauffeur got out to open the door. “Is your appointment at a church?” Paddy asked, looking amused. “I hope you won’t be long, because we lunch at one.” “Come in with me,” he said; “I want to show you a curious old chained Bible here. One of the oldest known.” She alighted, still looking amused, and followed him through the big old door. On the threshold he was greeted by the sexton with the astonishing words: “Mr Elkins has just come, sir. He is in the vestry;” and almost at the same moment a clergyman appeared in the chancel. Lawrence turned and looked into Paddy’s eyes—and immediately she understood. For a breathless moment neither spoke, and she seemed to sway a little with the suddenness of it. The sexton moved away and they stood together alone, but Paddy, was still speechless. Then Lawrence’s hand closed firmly over hers with a clasp that seemed to claim her for all eternity. “It was the best way I could think of, mavourneen,” he said; then he added humorously: “but it took me all my time to get the special licence necessary.” She tried to speak, but no words would frame themselves, and her lips twisted queerly. “Mavourneen, are you ready?... The one strong arm is growing impatient.” It was the old voice of ineffable tenderness, and it swept her unresistingly into his keeping. A mistiness in her eyes blotted out everything for a moment, and then she turned to him with a sudden uplifting of her head and squaring of her shoulders that gave him great joy in seeing the old dauntless Paddy equal to the moment. “Yes,” she said simply, “I’m quite ready.” Finis.