The moonlight gleamed through the windows and a certain amount of reflected light found its way through the open doorway.
Suddenly Juanita gave a start and clutched at Marcos' arm.
"Look," she said, pointing to the right.
A kneeling figure was there with something that gleamed dully at the shoulders.
"Yes," explained Marcos.

"It is a friend of mine, an officer of the garrison who has ridden over.

We require two witnesses, you know." "He is saying his own prayers," said Juanita, looking at him.
"He has not much opportunity," explained Marcos.

"He is in command of an outpost at the outlet of the valley of the Wolf." As they looked at him he rose and came towards them, his spurs clanking and his great sword swinging against the prie-dieu chairs of the devout.
He bowed formally to Juanita, and stood, upright and stiff, looking at Marcos.
The old cura came from the sacristy and lighted two candles on the altar.
Then he turned with the taper in his hand and beckoned to Marcos and Juanita to come forward to the rails where two stools had been placed in readiness.

The cura went back to the sacristy and returned, followed by the bishop in his vestments.
So Juanita de Mogente was married in a little mountain chapel by the light of two candles and a waning moon, while Sarrion and the officer in his dusty uniform stood like sentinels behind them, and the bishop recited the office by heart because he could not see to read.