"Well?"
"He was the celebrated pulpit orator, the Dean of Olivet—"
"Good Heav—" exclaimed Mr. Fabian, involuntarily, but stopping himself suddenly.
"What is the matter?" demanded Cora, suspiciously.
"I was too near the edge of the precipice. We might have been in the river in another moment," said Mr. Fabian.
Cora did not believe him, but she refrained from saying so.
"The danger is past. Go on, my dear."
"We were shown into the strangers' pew. The voluntary was playing. We all bowed our heads for the short private prayer. The voluntary stopped. Then we heard the voice of the dean and we lifted our heads. I turned to offer Mrs. Stillwater a prayer book. Then I saw her face. It was ghastly, and her eyes were fixed in a wild stare upon the face of the dean, whose eyes were upon the open book from which he was reading. Quick as lightning she covered her face with her veil and so remained until we all knelt down for the opening prayer. When we arose from our knees, Rose was gone."
Cora paused for a few moments.
"Go on, go on," said Mr. Fabian.