"Have you the right to claim it?"
"I claim it as a right," replied Vincent, fiercely. "That is enough, surely."
"It is not enough. I will ask her." And Pidar Narâyan knelt down beside the girl. "My daughter," he began, "Captain Dering tells me--" Then he gave way--"Cara mia," he whispered, laying his hand on hers, "tell me--I have never been unkind, surely--tell me--your old guardian, who has loved, who loves--must I marry you to--to him?"
Laila looked into his face with a faintly-wondering reply. "Must!" she echoed dreamily. "It's just as he likes, of course. I don't mind. I only want him--where is he?"
"I'm here, sweetheart." Vincent knelt down again and took her in his arms.
The faint querulousness left her voice. "That's nice," she murmured. "Tell him to begin quickly, Vincent, for I don't want to waste time. I want you--you, yourself, and me--me, myself--nothing else."
Father Ninian gave a sort of cry, and turned blindly to the altar. If this was not Love, what was?
Then, monotonously, his voice began the marriage service.
"Have you a ring?" he asked, when he came to stand by those two, the girl supported in Vincent's arms. The latter shook his head. "Go on without it," he said sternly; "she is failing fast."
But there was one on the old man's finger; one that had never left it since it had been put there by a saint in Paradise. He took it off now, and gave it to the man whom at that moment he hated and despised more than any man on earth.