In the late autumn, John married Ursula March.

He was twenty-one, and she eighteen.

It was very young--too young, perhaps, prudent folk might say: and yet sometimes I think a double blessing falls on unions like this.

A right and holy marriage, a true love-marriage, be it early or late, is--must be--sanctified and happy; yet those have the best chance of happiness, who, meeting on the very threshold of life, enter upon its duties together; with free, fresh hearts, easily moulded the one to the other, rich in all the riches of youth, acute to enjoy, brave and hopeful to endure.
Such were these two--God bless them! They were married quite privately, neither having any near kindred.
Besides, John held strongly the opinion that so solemn a festival as marriage is only desecrated by outward show.

And so, one golden autumn morning, Ursula walked quietly up the Abbey aisle in her plain white muslin gown; and John and she plighted their faithful vows, no one being present except the Jessops and I.