And here, still as one in a dream, she spoke those words which gave her life, henceforth, into the keeping of him who stood beside her,—­whose strong hand trembled as he set upon her finger, that which is an emblem of eternity.

Like one in a dream, she took the pen, and signed her name, obediently, where they directed.  And yet,—­could this really be herself,—­this silent, submissive creature?

And now, they were out upon the moon-lit road again, seated in the car, while Peterday, his hat in his hand, was speaking to her.  And yet,—­was it to her?

“Mrs. Belloo, mam,” he was saying, “on this here monumentous occasion—­”

“Monumentous is the only word for it, Peterday!” nodded the Sergeant.

“On this here monumentous occasion, Mrs. Belloo,” the sailor proceeded, “my shipmate, Dick, and me, mam,—­respectfully beg the favour of saluting the bride;—­Mrs. Belloo, by your leave—­here’s health, and happiness, mam!” And, hereupon, the old sailor kissed her, right heartily.  Which done, he made way for the Sergeant who, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit.

“A fair wind, and prosperous!” cried Peterday, flourishing his hat.

“And God—­bless you—­both!” said the Sergeant as the car shot away.

So, it was done!—­the irrevocable step was taken!  Her life and future had passed for ever into the keeping of him who sat so silent beside her, who neither spoke, nor looked at her, but frowned ever at the road before him.

On sped the car, faster, and faster,—­yet not so fast as the beating of her heart wherein there was yet something of fear, and shame,—­but greatest of all was that other emotion, and the name of it was—­Joy.

Now, presently, the car slowed down, and he spoke to her, though without turning his head.  And yet, something in his voice thrilled through her strangely.

“Look Anthea,—­the moon is at the full, to-night.”

“Yes!” she answered.

“And Happiness shall come riding astride the full moon!” he quoted.  “Old Nannie is rather a wonderful old witch, after all, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And then there is—­our nephew,—­my dear, little Porges!  But for him, Happiness would have been a stranger to me all my days, Anthea.  He dreamed that the Money Moon spoke to him, and—­but he shall tell you of that, for himself.”

But Anthea noticed that he spoke without once looking at her; indeed it seemed that he avoided glancing towards her, of set design, and purpose; and his deep voice quivered, now and then, in a way she had never heard before.  Therefore, her heart throbbed the faster, and she kept her gaze bent downward, and thus, chancing to see the shimmer of that which was upon her finger, she blushed, and hid it in a fold of her gown.

“Anthea.”

“Yes?”

“You have no regrets,—­have you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“We shall soon be—­home, now!”