Cyrus. Nothing.
Ruth. No, no! You don't say anything—just keep still.
Luther. With this ring I you wed.
Cyrus. No. I say that!
He said it, and with heroic self-control bade a silent farewell to his silver treasure as he slipped it on a finger of the bride. Then, to the rejoicing music, they marched down the aisle.
Outside the church the bride, who feared a renewal of the conflict, looked about with anxious eyes for the Budding Outlaw. But she had no cause for alarm. The Budding Outlaw was visible, far down the street, beyond the common, marching with humble mien, reflecting sadly on the uncertainties of human life.
