This was true love.
So the grand old words of the marriage-service were pronounced--they were promised to each other for better for worse, for weal for woe--never to part until death parted them--to be each the other's world.
It was the very morning for a bride.

Heaven and earth smiled their brightest, the sunshine was golden, the autumn flowers bloomed fair, the autumn foliage had assumed its rich hues of crimson and of burnished gold; there was a bright light over the sea and the hill-tops.
Only one little _contretemps_ happened at the wedding.

Madaline smiled at it.

Lord Arleigh was too happy even to notice it, but Lady Peters grew pale at the occurrence; for, according to her old-fashioned ideas, it augured ill.
Just as Lord Arleigh was putting the ring on the finger of his fair young bride, it slipped and fell to the ground.

The church was an old-fashioned one, and there were graves and vaults all down the aisle.
Away rolled the little golden ring, and when Lord Arleigh stooped down he could not see it.