But Glorian was great-hearted, even befitting her title of goddess. She now stepped down from the amaloc to the altar.
"In this let Glorian of Ruthar serve you," she said. "I have the power, and the knot that I shall tie, though it shall be more gentle than if done by this dog of Shamar, yet will it be as binding."
So, after the long years and their perils, Polaris and his Rose-maid were wedded, Oleric the Red producing the ring. And when she had pronounced the words which made them one, Glorian took Rose in her arms and kissed her on the forehead.
"May you be very happy, my sister," she whispered.
Now here the pen that has written this history ceases, to give place to that of one of its chief actors, who has a parting word to tell.
I, Zenas Wright, now in my sixty-seventh year, and being in full possession of my health, mind, and faculties (as lawyers write it in the wills) having been asked by the writer of the foregoing work to make some comment on it, do hereby aver, asseverate, maintain, etc., that it is in the main a faithful account of certain events in which it has been my privilege to play a small part. In fact, I cannot well do otherwise, seeing that I furnished him the information.
Such changes as I might be tempted to make in the history he has written would only vex the writer, and so I'll let it be. They would be in the nature of scientific details, anyhow, and I fear would make only dry reading for any but brother scientists.
I have told the author that he has made altogether too much of my part in the events which he has described. I am not a hero, and never will be; but in this description of that brush in the Kimbrian defile—which was altogether a matter of chance—he has made me almost heroic. I have asked him to amend the account; but he will not listen to it, and so I suppose that it will have to stand. I hereby disclaim it.