There was a dead silence as Miriam placed three more candles on the table, and lit them at the flame of the first. Then the clergyman took from one of the pockets of his coat the prayer-book, and motioned the two to move back a little towards the empty fireplace. Deborah's heart had almost stopped beating, and her throat was so strained that she could not have spoken a word. Sir Charles, taking her arm, gently drew her to his side, and looked to Rockwell, who stood in front of them. He began to speak softly, omitting not a word of the service, even the address to the people assembled, now solely represented by Mistress Vawse, who was supporting herself against the table.
"'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the sight of God—'"
"Oh!" cried Sir Charles, with a sudden start, "we were to have had another fellow—a witness—that de Mailly—don't you know, George?"
"I am here," came in a low tone from the stairs.
"Lord!" cried Mistress Vawse, on the verge of collapse. Four pairs of startled eyes were lifted to where Claude, who had heard the sound of voices in his room and started to come down to learn more of the midnight arrivals, had halted in his descent, Rockwell's words in his ears.
After the sharp pause, the rector was first to speak: "Well, now that he's here, we'll go on. Come down, sir, and be witness to this marriage."
Claude was very white as he replied, with his slight accent: "I will remain here. I can see and hear quite perfectly, if I am necessary."
"Go on, then! Go on!" cried Sir Charles, wiping his brow.
"'—and in the face of this company to join together this man and—'"
"No—no—stop!"