ten o'clock
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * With rose-crowned June , the rose-window in the church of St. Rest was filled in and completed . Maryllia had found all the remaining ancient stained glass that had been needed to give the finishing touch to its beauty , and the loveliest deep gem-like hues shone through the carven apertures like rare jewels in a perfect setting . The rays of light filtering through them were wonderful and mystical , -- such as might fall from the pausing wings of some great ministering angel , -- and under the blaze of splendid colour , the white sarcophagus with its unknown ` Saint ' asleep , lay steeped in soft folds of crimson and azure , gold and amethyst , while even the hollow notches in the sculptured word ` Resurget ' seemed filled with delicate tints like those painted by old-world monks on treasured missals . And presently one morning came , -- warm with the breath of summer , sunny and beautiful , -- when the window was solemnly re - consecrated by Bishop Brent at ten o'clock , -- a consecration followed by the loud and joyous ringing of the bells , and a further sacred ceremony , -- the solemnisation of matrimony between John Walden and Maryllia Vancourt . All the village swarmed out like a hive of bees from their honey-cells to see their ` Passon ' married . Hundreds of honest and affectionate eyes looked love on the bride , as clad in the simplest of simple white gowns , with a plain white veil draping her from head to foot , she came walking to the church across the warm clover-scented fields , like any village maid , straight from the Manor , escorted only by Cicely , her one bridesmaid . At the churchyard gate , she was met by all the youngest girls of the school , arrayed in white , who , carrying rush baskets full of wild flowers , scattered them before her as she moved , -- and when she arrived at the church porch , she was followed by the little child Ipsie , whose round fair cherub-like face reflected one broad smile of delight , and who carried between her two tiny hands a basket full to overflowing of old French damask roses , red as the wine-glow of a summer sunset .