Now all was ready, and the door opened and she stepped through it, a radiant thing, glittering in the lamplight. Then trumpets blew and a herald cried: “Way! Way there! Way for the high sovereign lady and princess of Baalbec!” Thus followed by the train of honourable women who attended her, Rosamund glided forward to the courtyard, and once more bent the knee to Saladin, then stood still, lost in wonder. Again the trumpets blew, and on the right a herald cried, “Way! Way there! Way for the brave and noble Frankish knight, Sir Wulf D’Arcy!” Lo! attended by emirs and notables, Wulf came forth, clad in splendid armour inlaid with gold, wearing on his shoulder a mantel set with gems and on his breast the gleaming Star of the Luck of Hassan. To Rosamund he strode and stood by her, his hands resting on the hilt of his long sword. “Princess,” said Saladin, “I give you back your rank and titles, because you have shown a noble heart; and you, Sir Wulf, I honour also as best I may, but to my decree I hold. Let them go together to the drinking of the cup of their destiny as to a bridal bed.” Again the trumpets blew and the heralds called, and they led them to the doors of the chapel, which at their knocking were thrown wide. From within came the sound of women’s voices singing, but it was no sad song they sang. “The sisters of the Order are still there,” said Rosamund to Wulf, “and would cheer us on our road to heaven.” “Perchance,” he answered. “I know not. I am amazed.” At the door the company of Moslems left them, but they crowded round the entrance as though to watch what passed. Now down the long aisle walked a single whiterobed figure. It was the abbess. “What shall we do, Mother?” said Rosamund to her. “Follow me, both of you,” she said, and they followed her through the nave to the altar rails, and at a sign from her knelt down. Now they saw that on either side of the altar stood a Christian priest. The priest to the right—it was the bishop Egbert—came forward and began to read over them the marriage service of their faith. “They’d wed us ere we die,” whispered Rosamund to Wulf. “So be it,” he answered; “I am glad.” “And I also, beloved,” she whispered back. The service went on—as in a dream, the service went on, while the white-robed sisters sat in their carven chairs and watched. The rings that were handed to them had been interchanged; Wulf had taken Rosamund to wife, Rosamund had taken Wulf to husband, till death did them part. Then the old bishop withdrew to the altar, and another hooded monk came forward and uttered over them the benediction in a deep and sonorous voice, which stirred their hearts most strangely, as though some echo reached them from beyond the grave. He held his hands above them in blessing and looked upwards, so that his hood fell back, and the light of the altar lamp fell upon his face. It was the face of Godwin, and on his head was the tonsure of a monk.