"In the name of Heaven! what is the matter, my own Christie?" he cried, in wonder and alarm.
But, pressing her hands over her heart, she sank dizzily on the church steps, pale, gasping, trembling, horror-stricken still.
"Christie! Christie! dearest love! what is it?" he said, anxiously, encircling her with his arm.
"Oh! the doom—the doom!" she said, shudderingly hiding her face in his arm.
"What doom? Of what are you speaking, sweet wife?" he inquired, in increasing anxiety.
She rose now, and passed her hand over her brow, as if to clear away a mist. Then, seeing his pale, troubled face, she recovered herself and forced a smile.
"Dearest Christie, what was it?" he anxiously asked.
"Oh, Willard! you will laugh at me, but I felt it all, I saw it all so plainly," she said, in a weeping voice.
"Saw what—felt what? I do not understand," he said, puzzled by her look and words.
"Those eyes! those eyes! and that fierce grasp on my throat, and the keen knife! Ah, Heaven! I feel it yet." And she shuddered convulsively.