"Oh, must you go?" exclaimed Mrs. Brantwell, wringing her hands.
"Unfortunately, dear madam, there seems to be no alternative."
"But not in that dress—not in that dress! Sir, may she not return to the parsonage and change her dress?"
"Madam, I am very sorry, but I cannot lose sight of my prisoner."
A circle of white flamed round the eyes of Captain Campbell, and he clenched his hands and groaned in his bitter degradation.
"Then I am quite ready to go. Mrs. Brantwell, dearest friend, farewell for a short time only, I trust. Guy, brother, do not feel this so deeply; in a few days I trust to return to you all again. Willard"—her clear, full voice choked for the first time as she turned to him—"dearest Willard, I must bid you good by."
"Oh, Sibyl! Sibyl! Oh, my wife! do you think I will leave you thus?" he cried, passionately, as, unheeding the many eyes upon him, he strained her to his bosom as if he would have drawn her into his very heart beyond their reach. "Oh, my bride! my beautiful one! never will I leave you—never!"
A radiant glance, a look, a smile, rewarded him, while every heart thrilled at his anguished tones.
"Your own, in life or death, in shame, disgrace, and misery—ever your own!" she said, looking up in his face with deep, earnest, undying love.
There was not a dry eye in the church; every one was sobbing—Mrs. Brantwell so convulsively that the sheriff, who was really a kind-hearted man, was deeply distressed.