“Ralph, you make me anxious; but listen further.” And the old man related how Margaret, presenting herself at the communion table, had, in the face of the whole congregation, been turned away.
Ralph Houston leaped upon his feet with a rebounding spring that shook the house, and stood, convulsed, livid, speechless, breathless with rage.
“Ralph! My God, you alarm me! Pray, pray govern yourself.”
His breast labored, his face worked, his words came as if each syllable was uttered with agony: “Who—did—this?”
“Mr. Wellworth, once her friend!”
“An old man and a clergyman! God knoweth that shall not save him when I meet him.”
“Ralph! Ralph! you are mad.”
“And Margaret! How did she bear this? Oh! that I had been at her side. Oh, God, that I had been at her side!” exclaimed the captain, striding in rapid steps up and down the floor.
“She felt it, of course, very acutely.”
“My dove! my poor, wounded dove! But you all comforted and sustained her, sir!”