At one end of the room there had been erected an altar, over which was a canopy of white velvet looped with gold cord and tassels, a most graceful and elegant affair. The floor of the altar was likewise carpeted with white velvet, with a delicate vine of gold trailing over it.
Thither Ralph proceeded, leading his fair and lovely bride. They reached it, ascended the steps, and placed themselves in position, waiting for the clergyman to speak the words which should make them one.
He arose, an old, gray-headed man, with a sad, pale face, and who glanced with compassion at the white, rigid countenance of Dora.
He knew she was an unwilling bride, and his heart ached in sympathy for the anguish so plainly stamped upon her features, and he rebelled against performing such a mockery in the sight of Heaven.
But he was powerless, for he himself was a prisoner within those vaults, and had received his orders to pronounce them man and wife in defiance of all opposition, or his own life would pay the forfeit.
The assembled guests consisted of about fifty persons in all, and comprised twenty-five of the band of smugglers, most of the captives, and the servants.
All were clad befitting the occasion, and conspicuous among the company were the seven lovely girls before alluded to, all of whom were robed in spotless white.
Near the altar, and with a smile of fiendish exultation upon his evil face, stood Squire Moulton.
He was muttering to himself, in a satisfied sort of tone (a habit he had recently acquired), at the smooth way his plans were working.
“One scene more in this drama, and my revenge will be complete, and then I will rest awhile!” he said.