Richard returned with quick steps to where I was sitting.
“Come,” said he, smiling; “he is waiting.”
Startled and trembling, I made no answer save an effort to reach the door.
“For heaven’s sake, Agnes, do not make a scene! Recover your usual good sense. Do you not see that it is best?” whispered Richard, with earnestness almost fierce.
And so hurried, flushed and doubting, overcome with heat and excitement, I permitted myself to be led to the altar.
The ceremony soon ended. As the clerk shut his book and we turned to depart, I could not realize that this abrupt, informal marriage was a reality. As I passed down the aisle, a white, fluttering, impalpable, and yet clearly-defined form arose from one of the empty seats, and unobstructed by carved wood or heavy upholstery, passed out through frame and plaster! The slight figure, the golden hair, I remembered too well—it was that of the _ghost of Bristed Hall_!
I clenched Richard’s arm so that he muttered an oath, and said sharply, “My God, Agnes, what are you doing?”
“Did you not see that figure? It passed straight through the wall,” I whispered in affright.
“Move on—none of your d—d nonsense, Agnes,” said Richard, scowling; then hastily adding, “Excuse me, love, you confuse me. My happiness makes me forget myself.”
My mind surged with conflicting emotions. I felt a secret joy in the knowledge that I was united to the man I loved. This romantic, half run-away match pleased the romance of my nature, and yet I was unable to resist the feeling that I had done wrong. A strange foreboding of evil intruded upon my joy.