They walked through the churchyard with its quiet sleepers, into the cool church where David was waiting to give his sister away.  Some of the village women, with little girls in clean pinafores clinging to their skirts, came shyly in after them and sat down at the door.  Lord Bidborough, waiting for his bride, saw her come through the doorway winged like Mercury, smiling back at the children following ... then her eyes met his.

The first thing that Jean became aware of was that Mr. Macdonald was reading her own chapter.

“The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them:  and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose....

“And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The Way of Holiness:  the unclean shall not pass over it:  but it shall be for those:  the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein....

“No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there.

“And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads:  they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

The schoolmistress had played the wedding march from Lohengrin, and was prepared to play Mendelssohn as the party left the church, but when the service was over Mrs. Macdonald whispered fiercely in Jean’s ear, “You can’t be married without ‘O God of Bethel,’” and ousting the schoolmistress from her place at the organ she struck the opening notes.

They knew it by heart—­Jean and Davie and Jock and Mhor and Lewis Elliot—­and they sang it with the unction with which one sings the songs of Zion by Babylon’s streams.

  “Through each perplexing path of life
     Our wandering footsteps guide;
   Give us each day our daily bread,
     And raiment fit provide.

   O spread Thy covering wings around
     Till all our wanderings cease,
   And at our Father’s loved abode
     Our souls arrive in peace.”

Out in the sunshine, among the blossoms, Jean stood with her husband and was kissed and blessed.

“Jean, Lady Bidborough,” said Pamela.

“Gosh, Maggie!” said Jock, “I quite forgot Jean would be Lady Bidborough.  What a joke!”

“She doesn’t look any different,” Mhor complained.

“Surely you don’t want her different,” Mrs. Macdonald said.

“Not very different,” said Mhor, “but she’s pretty small for a Lady—­not nearly as tall as Richard Plantagenet.”

“As high as my heart,” said Lord Bidborough.  “The correct height, Mhor.”

The vicar lunched with them at the inn.  There were no speeches, and no one tried to be funny.

Jock rebuked Jean for eating too much.  “It’s not manners for a bride to have more than one help.”