"'I must carry you in,' I whispered. 'I beg your pardon for it, but it is necessary to the farce.' And following up my words by action, I lifted her from the seat, cold and unresponsive as a stone, and carried her into the house and set her down before the astonished eyes of such servants as had remained to guard the house in our absence.
"'Miss Leighton has not been married,' I cried. 'She was taken ill on the way to church, and I have brought her back. She needs no attendance.' And I waved them all back, for their startled, gaping countenances infuriated me, and threatened to shatter the dreadful calmness which was my only strength.
"As they disappeared, murmuring and peering, Miss Dudleigh entered. I gave her one glance and dropped my eyes. She and I could not bear each other's looks yet. Meantime Marah stood erect in the center of the hall, her face pale, her lips set, her eyes fixed upon vacancy. Not a word passed our three mouths. At last a petulant murmur broke the dreadful silence, and Marah, tossing her head in disdain, turned away before our eyes and began to mount the stairs.
"I felt my blood, which for many minutes had seemed at a standstill, pour with a rush through vein and artery, and darting to her side, I caught her by the hand and held her to her place.
"'You shall not go up,' I cried, 'till you and I have understood each other. You have refused to marry me to-day. Was it some caprice that moved you, or—' I paused and looked behind me; Miss Dudleigh had shrunk from sight into one of the rooms—'or because you saw Edwin Urquhart in the crowd and followed his commanding gesture?'
"The hand which I held grew cold as ice. She drew it away and looked at me haughtily, but I saw that I had frightened her.
"'Edwin Urquhart is nothing to me,' came in low but emphatic tones from her lips. 'I did not want to marry any one, and I said so. It would be better if more brides hesitated on the threshold of matrimony instead of crossing it to their ruin.'
"I could have killed her, but I subdued myself. I knew that I had lost her; that in another moment she would be gone, never to enter my presence again as my promised wife; but I uttered no word, honored her with no glance; merely made her a low bow and stepped back, as I thought, master of myself again.
"But in that final instant one last arrow entered my breast, and darting back to her side, I whispered, in what must have been a terrible voice:
"'Go, falsest of the false! I have done with you! But if you have lied to me—if you think to trip up Edwin Urquhart in his duty, and break Honora Dudleigh's noble heart, and shame my honor—I will kill you as I would a snake in the grass! You shall never approach the altar with another as nearly as you have this day with me!'