Ah! thou soulless reprobate! Several scenes more will pass before your gaze ere you shall take your rest!
There was a sudden hush as Father Francis (as he was called) passed slowly from his seat to the foot of the altar.
Faint and trembling the tones fell from his lips as he began the ceremony, and Ralph Moulton felt himself shudder, and his flesh creep, as they floated up through space, and died away in the lofty, brilliantly gemmed vault above them.
The demand came forth, solemnly and fearfully.
“Wilt thou take her whom you hold by the hand to be your true and lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, and cherish while life doth last?”
“I will!”
Then, with a tear moistening his sunken eye, the holy man turned to the cold, white statue leaning on Ralph’s arm.
“Will you take him who stands by your side to be your true and lawful husband, to love, honor, and obey until death doth part you?”
The hush of death was on the air, an awful stillness reigned, while the clergyman waited for the expected response.
It came not; the white lips moved not—the pale eyelids did not even quiver, and the bosom scarcely fluttered!