“We can't go down into the vaults.”
“I should say,” remarked the clergyman, “that since we have no lights, it is far better for us to remain where we are.”
“But we may be overheard.”
“I shall speak low.”
“Isn't it a little too dark here?” asked Dudleigh, tremulously.
“It certainly is rather dark,” said the clergyman, “but I suppose it can't be helped, and it need not make any difference. There is a witness who has seen the parties, and as you say secrecy is needed, why, this darkness may be all the more favorable. But it is no concern of mine. Only I should think it equally safe, and a great deal pleasanter, to have the ceremony here than down in the vaults.”
All this had been spoken in a quick low tone, so as to guard against being overheard. During this scene Edith had stood trembling, half fainting, with a kind of blank despair in her soul, and scarcely any consciousness of what was going on.
The witness, who had entered last, moved slowly and carefully about, and walked up to where he could see the figure of Edith faintly defined against the white sheen of the clergyman's surplice. He stood at her right hand.
“Begin,” said Dudleigh; and then he said, “Miss Dalton, where are you?”
She said nothing. She could not speak.