Up the aisle, decorated with innumerable Castilian roses intertwined with ivy, came Carmelita, on her father's arm, orange blossoms clustered in her hand, her bridesmaids well in the lead.
The organ swelled in notes of rejoicing.
Directly before the señorita went two little girls, clad in white, backing slowly altarward, as she advanced. Freshly gathered rose-petals, handful by handful, they showered before her, making a pathway sweetly yielding as she trod.
Captain Morando, awaiting his bride, stood at the altar gate, in uniform, his poncho laid aside, his brother officers attending him.
Bride and groom knelt within the sanctuary.
Neophyte Indian acolytes swung censers. Incense hung in the air, tingling the nostrils with its Oriental perfume, while the many candles glowed through the maze like burnished spear-points.
As the clergy solemnly intoned the nuptial service, the choir, a hundred strong, of Indian men and women touchingly gave back its responses. The melody of Pepita's voice flooded nave and chancel, love for her mistress the inspiration.
An instant's pause. Every breath stilled.
With hands upraised over bride and groom stood the officiating padre. "Whom, therefore, God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
Down the aisle husband and wife led bridesmaid and groomsman, governor, council, and junta departmental.