Alaran and Alleda met by the riverside, over them willows and poplars, before them the wide stream. “Now I will that we wed,” said Alaran, “when the wheat is ripe, at the midsummer feast!”
“You are fairer than ever you were,” said Alaran. “You stand in my heart, and it is bright flame and bright flowers around you!”
“As wheat and vines and rivers is my love for you and it has always been so!... But we must travel on, though we carry love in our arms—like a child, like a child!”
The grain ripened, the year came to midsummer. Men and women gathered to the marriage of the chief of these Goths and Alleda the Vandal. There came also, many leagues through the forest, chief men and bards of the Vandals.
Alleda came to the glade and spoke with Victorinus. “They talk around the oak of joining with other Goths and pouring south against your country!”
“The City of God is my country,” said Victorinus. “Our country-love is to bring souls to Christ.”
“The priests of the grove come to Alaran and persuade him to thrust out you and the ten brethren, and to tear down the church!”
“Wed him, besiege him with your spirit, win, and this little church shall give place to a great church, all this people hewing and building! But for me, have I not longed, O my Lord and God, to be counted among Thy martyrs?”
She came again after three days. Her eyes shone. “Alaran has pledged me that no harm shall come to you and the brethren, nor to my lovely church!”