"No," she replied, "I could never make such a claim; for my mother's marriage was never admitted by the court as a royal marriage. It was considered morganatic. Her children were legitimate, but could never succeed to the throne."
"But, even so," insisted Mark, "you are the Grand Duchess."
Ruth put her hand gently over his mouth. "I am to be more than a grand duchess, dear. I am to be your wife—to-morrow."
The sun was below the horizon now. For a while longer they watched its banners of flaming red and yellow flung across the sky. Then, hand in hand, they retraced their steps to Killimaga, where Mark left her with a whispered, "Sweet dreams, dear," and went his way toward the rectory.
As he sauntered aimlessly along, his thoughts were all of her. Never once had she lectured him on religious matters, yet she was splendidly sincere, and her faith of the greatest. And she had been praying for him all the time! Yet what need of speech? Her very self, her every action, her nice sense of right, were greater than any sermon he had ever heard from mortal lips. She was a woman whom any man might well love—and honor.
Reluctantly Mark at last sought the rectory, where the Bishop and Monsignore awaited him. And almost desperately he sought to evade Ann, whose dinner had been kept waiting. Seeing the attempt was vain, he threw up his hands.
"Both hands up, Ann. I claim the protection of the Bishop."
And Ann, not displeased, went on her way.