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at Jennifer in his turn before he joined his clasp to hers and said, as carefully as if his tone might shatter something of crystal: “My dear, I am not worthy of thy troth. And ’tis a pledge unsanctioned by the law or holy Church—”
    Her words stumbled. “It only is forever.”
    “I know not, nor dost thou. Let me remind that thou and I are worlds and wars apart. Nor do I like this pagan ceremony.”
    “But … thou’lt go through with it … to get the help?”
    He nodded. “I am a soldier; and it is my way to charge ahead into the teeth of chance. If thou wilt stand me true till I return, or till I fall, I’ll do the same for thee. Then afterward, if such be fate, we’ll talk.”
    She told him through tears, “I’ll live in hope of what thou then may’st say.”
    “Kneel, children, here before the sacred stone,” Oberoncommanded. They did, hand in hand. As he stepped in front of them, his elves made a whirlpool of dim fire above his crown. He laid palms upon their heads. “By oak and ash and springtime-whitened thorn, through ages gone and ages to be born, by earth below, by air arising higher, by ringing waters, and by living fire, by life and death, I charge that ye say true if ye do now give faith for faith.”
    They answered together, like speakers in sleep: “We do.”
    Titania came to her lord. “Place each a ring upon the other’s hand,” she told them (they obeyed), “and may the sign of binding prove a band that joins the youth to maiden, man to wife, and lights the way upon your search through life.”
    Oberon and Titania together: “Farewell! And if the roads ye find be rough, keep love alive, and so have luck enough.”
    They and their followers were gone. Darkness overwhelmed the glade.
    “Where art thou, darling?” Jennifer cried. “Suddenly I’m blind!”
    “The moon has slipped below the treetops, dear,” he answered. “Bide unafraid till thou canst see by stars.”
    Puck nudged Will Fairweather. “I likewise have to hurry on my way,” he said. “Methinks this night has not yet done with pranks.”
    “We too must travel off, tha prince an’ me,” the man replied. “When once his landlord finds ’a’s left tha inn without a stop for payin’ o’ tha scoare, we’d better have zome distance in between.” His voice was troubled. “I caered not for his magickin’ myzelf. Her heart war in it, but not whoally his. Half done, it could recoil if ’a ben’t caereful. … An’ we doan’t even know which way to head!”
    “To west, I’d say, where ye can find a ship.” Puck advised. After a pause: “And, h’m, to speak of inns and such—My friend, if sorely pressed for shelter, think of this. There is a tavern known as the old Phoenix, which none may see nor enter who’re not touched by magic in some way. If flits about, but maybe ye can usehis ring to find it, or even draw a door toward yourselves. … I must be off. My master calls. Away!” He was gone.
    Eyes grown used to the lessened light, Will made out Rupert and Jennifer at the rock.
    “I hate to send thee back, alone and weary.” The pain was real in the prince’s voice.
    “But we can do naught else,” she said. “I will abide, and pray for thee and love thee always, Rupert.”
    They kissed. She felt her way off into the forest murk. Awhile he stared after her, until he shook himself and spoke flatly: “Well, camarado, let’s prepare to sail, while tide is ebb and wind not yet a gale.”

viii
    THE SCULLERY OF THE MANOR.
    I T was unadorned red brick, floor sloping to a gutter which drained into the moat. Above an open hearth with a flue reached a swivel-mounted hook for the great kettle wherein water was heated. Firewood lay stacked beside. Nearby stood a raised counter and sink. Elsewhere buckets, tubs, tools, utensils crowded shelves or hung on walls. The gleam of copper, the deep tints of crockery made this the cheeriest room in the house.
    Late at night it had grown cold, though. Sir Malachi