It would be impossible to depict or describe the consternation that reigned now within the church.
Mrs. Tom, in a deadly swoon, was borne from the sacred edifice.
The book had dropped from the hand of the clergyman, and dumb with amazement and incredulity, he stood staring at the official.
Mrs. Brantwell, pale, and almost fainting at so monstrous a charge, made at such a time, and in such a place, hid her shuddering face in her trembling hands.
The bride-maids, like a flock of frightened birds, had clustered together, gazing around with vague, terror-stricken eyes.
And the people, after the first shock of horror and amazement, became mute as the grave, listening, with breathless interest, for the denouement of this astounding interruption, with the eager, morbid curiosity a crowd will always listen to anything of the sort.
But the group around the altar; they were the focus of all eyes. Captain Guy Campbell, his dark eye blazing, his brow corrugated, his lips white with passion, stood gazing on the sheriff, as if he would spring upon him and rend him limb from limb on the spot, for making so terrible a charge against a sister of his.
That gentleman stood calm, stern, and unmoved, upheld by the consciousness that he was doing his duty, however painful, and keeping his eyes fixed, with something like pity, on the face of the bride.
Willard Drummond, fearing she might faint or fall, had encircled her waist with his arm; and, though his own face was perfectly colorless with horror and indignation, stooped and whispered:
"My bride—my wife—my dearest one, be calm! This monstrous accusation will be explained."