“Hold!” called Brush in a loud voice, striding commandingly forward with his arm upraised; “I have something to say!”
There was a majesty and an impressiveness of mien like that of the Hebrew prophet who hushed the tempest. Captain Dawson, without moving body or limb, turned and glared at the intruder; Ruggles kept his position; Nellie Dawson, with arms still clasping the neck of her betrothed, looked over her shoulder at her old friend; Lieutenant Russell reached up so as to hold the wrists of the girl, while still retaining his grip upon his rifle and fixed his eyes upon the tall, gaunt figure that halted between him and Captain Dawson and a little to one side of him.
“Lieutenant Frederic Russell, do you love Nellie Dawson?” was the astounding question that fell from the lips of Brush.
“Aye, more than my life,” was the prompt response.
“And you have started for Sacramento with the purpose of making her your wife?”
“That was my resolve with the help of heaven.”
“And, Nellie, you agreed to this?”
“Yes, yes; we shall not be parted in life or death.”
“Such being your feelings,” continued Felix Brush, in the same loud, clear tones, “I pronounce you man and wife, and whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder!”