A spasm of apprehension shivered through him. Had she brought his dream so near realization only to snatch it from him? Could a woman be so cruel to a dying man? He met her questioning look with one of agonized supplication. "Withdraw—now?" he muttered, unable to voice the prayer of his eyes. "Then why come at all—to mock me?" But Prue was quick to read men’s hearts, and what she saw in Robin’s, translated his few abrupt words into a language that stirred hers to pity. Therefore, to console him (the jailer having by this time retired), she now threw off her wraps, and revealed such a vision of loveliness as fairly illuminated the dingy prison cell. His look of delighted surprise satisfied her. "I recognize you now, but you are far, far more beautiful than even my dreams of you! And have you really made yourself so fine to gladden a poor prisoner’s eyes?" said Robin, gazing with rapture upon the graceful figure in its dainty garb of brocade and lace, the lovely face, from which eyes of the most dazzling brightness smiled alluringly upon him; the little hand, so tapering and dimpled, stretched out to him with a gesture, half-entreaty and half-command. As he took it in his, she blushed a little, remembering how he had behaved the other time she offered it. But this time, he bent his head and laid a courtly and reverential salute upon it. "We have nothing to wait for now," said Sir Geoffrey, impatiently observing this little episode. "Parson Goodridge, have you shown the papers to this gentleman, to make sure they are correct?" Robin mechanically took up the papers the parson had laid on the table, and read out the names from the marriage license. "Robert Gregory de Cliffe," he nodded approval and glanced further down. "Prue, widow of James Stuart Brooke and daughter of Reginald Wynne and Anne Drumloch, his wife." All the titles had been eliminated, and there was nothing to show that the bride was not of plebeian origin. Robin smiled slightly. Was it worth while to be mysterious with a man virtually dead? He recalled that Peggie had made him promise to keep his marriage with "my lady" a secret, but it was apparent that he was not to be trusted with more of the secret than was absolutely necessary. "It is quite correct," he said, laying the paper down. "Then let us proceed to business. Master Goodridge, pray do your office quickly. Let us have no homilies on the duties and pleasures of matrimony"—Sir Geoffrey laughed maliciously—"but make the ceremony brief and binding. We will not intrude on your privacy," he added, turning to Robin, "any longer than is necessary." "I am ready," said Robin curtly.