Sir Andrew Washington added to the gloom, “I hope the rain stays off.”

Lady Margaret scoffed at the thought. “It will not rain! Come, Enid!”

When Lady Margaret had gone, Campion looked at the colonel. “This is kind of you.”

“Not at all, my dear. Very proud, very proud. I’m just sorry it has to be me and no one closer to you.”

“Dear Sir Andrew, I can think of no one I would rather have by me.”

He liked that. “Still, you’ll have to guide me up the aisle, my dear. I’m not used to this darkness.”

“How do you manage?”

“Oh, I get along.” He smiled. “I have a small house in Wiltshire and the servants are kind. They read to me and I can garden very well by feel. I find that I enjoy conversations more than I used. I listen, you see.” The velvet mask was turned up toward her. “Lady Margaret was desperately worried for you. I was in Oxford during your ordeal, I wish I could have been more help.”

“I survived, Sir Andrew.”

“We prayed you would, indeed we did. My knees are still sore! Now, are you all ready for parade? Anything you have to do before we go?”

It was not far to St. Mary’s Church and Campion, blushing at the admiration of the crowd that gathered to watch Colonel Washington hand her into the coach, thought of the journey that had brought her this far. It had started with one seal, St. Matthew, and it had taken her from the dull, coarse, black clothes of the Puritans, from their tight, bitter, envious rules, to this morning of silk and satin, of splendor and marriage. One casual meeting by a stream had led to this altar, and she thought of the one thing that had never altered in all the months. Through war and fire, through imprisonment and wounding, she and Toby had not faltered in their love.

The wedding was popular in Oxford. As the summer’s campaigning drew to a close the Royalists could look back on a spring and summer of frustration and defeat. Their enemies grew stronger, the King’s cause weaker, yet Campion was a symbol of defiance. She had been tried as a Royalist, as a witch, and she had escaped to the King’s capital where she was reckoned as a heroine. The crowd was large outside St. Mary’s and, as James Wright opened the door, she faltered. James smiled at her. He had come to Oxford as Toby’s soldier-servant, yet he guarded Campion whenever she stepped outside of the house without Toby.

Colonel Sir Andrew Washington took her elbow. “Courage, my dear!”

She had not expected the church to be so full. As she warned Sir Andrew of a step at the entrance, so the music began, triumphant music that filled the church, music that soared from organ and choir, and Campion seemed to be swamped by the sound and the sight before her. The congregation had come in their Royalist finery; lace, silver, velvet, satin, silks and jewels, all lit by the candles which Mordecai Lopez’s money had purchased. She turned Colonel Washington into the main aisle, feeling the nervousness on her, smiling shyly at the faces that turned to look at her, and then she saw Toby.