And so in a line, the priest leading, we circled round the table in rhythmic measure.

Those who supported us moved behind us, holding the crowns over our heads, and replacing them when we stopped.
After a hymn, sung through the darkness, the priest took off our crowns.
This was evidently the conclusion of the ritual, for the priest placed us in each other's arms to embrace each other.

Then he blessed us, who were now man and wife! The lights went out at once, some as if extinguished, others slowly fading down to blackness.
Left in the dark, my wife and I sought each other's arms again, and stood together for a few moments heart to heart, tightly clasping each other, and kissed each other fervently.
Instinctively we turned to the door of the church, which was slightly open, so that we could see the moonlight stealing in through the aperture.

With even steps, she holding me tightly by the left arm--which is the wife's arm, we passed through the old church and out into the free air.
Despite all that the gloom had brought me, it was sweet to be in the open air and together--this quite apart from our new relations to each other.
The moon rode high, and the full light, coming after the dimness or darkness in the church, seemed as bright as day.

I could now, for the first time, see my wife's face properly.