She turned from him hastily, and still, holding by Mrs Charlton, moved away from the altar.
“Whither,” cried Delvile, fearfully following her, “whither are you going?”
She made not any answer; but still, though tottering as much from emotion as Mrs Charlton from infirmity, she walked on.
“Why did you stop the ceremony, Sir?” cried Delvile, impatiently speaking to the clergyman.
“No ceremony, Sir,” he returned, “could proceed with such an interruption.”
“It has been wholly accidental,” cried he, “for we neither of us know the woman, who could not have any right or authority for the prohibition.” Then yet more anxiously pursuing Cecilia, “why,” he continued, “do you thus move off?—Why leave the ceremony unfinished?—Mrs Charlton, what is it you are about?—Cecilia, I beseech you return, and let the service go on!”
Cecilia, making a motion with her hand to forbid his following her, still silently proceeded, though drawing along with equal difficulty Mrs Charlton and herself.
“This is insupportable!” cried Delvile, with vehemence, “turn, I conjure you!—my Cecilia!—my wife!—why is it you thus abandon me?—Turn, I implore you, and receive my eternal vows!—Mrs Charlton, bring her back,—Cecilia, you must not go!—”
He now attempted to take her hand, but shrinking from his touch, in an emphatic but low voice, she said, “Yes, Sir, I must!—an interdiction such as this!—for the world could I not brave it!”
She then made an effort to somewhat quicken her pace.