“Oh, you are in such a hurry! This is all too sudden. I—only wanted to be engaged—not married, perhaps, for years. We could work for the Master—”
She was interrupted, as victorious lovers usually interrupt.
Just then the priest entered. Miriamne tried to greet him with a smile and a sentence, but she was under a spell. She seemed to herself to be a different woman than she was when he last met her guide. She spoke a few meaningless words, which were lost in the vigorous utterance of her companion, as he explained the betrothal and requested its ratification.
The aged man of God looked tenderly down on both, and then questioned:
“Miriamne, I know his heart toward thee; is thine resting on his?”
The maiden drooped her eye-lids, but the tell-tale blush on her cheek gave answer.
“Shall I commit you to each other before God, forever!”
Her hand rose in an effort to restrain, but it fell back into her lap, as if unwilling to do so.
“Bless us quickly, good father, I pray you,” spoke Cornelius.
“Clasp four hands crossed,” said the priest.