There was a dead silence, and Richard Glaire felt his breath catch, as if a hand was at his throat, as he saw Eve look wildly round from face to face, and at last let her eyes rest with a horrified expression upon those of the man who had asked her that solemn question. So deep was the silence, that a whisper would have been plainly heard, and the voice of the clerk sounded painful and strange, as he said in a low voice—“Answer ‘I will.’”
There was another painful pause, and then throwing herself on her knees, and clutching the altar rail as one might have sought sanctuary in days of old, Eve shrieked out—
“No, no, no, no—God forgive me—I do not love him, and I never can!”
Richard Glaire muttered an oath between his teeth, and stooped to raise her, but the book was dropped, and the vicar’s strong arm thrust him away.
“Stand back, sir,” he exclaimed; “this marriage cannot proceed. Mr Purley.”
The doctor stepped forward, raised, and laid the fainting girl upon the cushions hastily spread upon the stones of the chancel; and, tearing off his surplice, the vicar was the first to bring wine, and take one of the cold thin hands, as he knelt beside her, while Richard, trembling with fury, sought to be heard.
“It’s no use,” said the doctor, firmly. “Poor girl! over-excitement—nerves unstrung. We shall have brain fever if there is not the greatest care.”
“It’s all nonsense,” cried Richard, passionately. “A mere whim—a girl’s silly fainting-fit. Bring her to, doctor, and the marriage shall go on.”
“I told you, sir,” said the vicar, sternly, “that it could not go on. Poor girl: she could bear no more.”
“But,” shrieked Richard, “it shall go on. Do you think I’ll be made such a fool of before the town? Curse you, this is your doing, and—”