There was a deep, profound silence as the last melancholy cadence died away, and many a rugged heart was melted, even to tears. Eleanor, meanwhile, remained in a state of passive stupefaction, vacantly gazing at Sybil, upon whom alone her eyes were fixed, and appearing indistinctly to apprehend the meaning of her song.
"This is my bridal day," murmured she, in a low tone, when Sybil had finished. "Said not that sweet voice so? I know 'tis my bridal day. What a church you have chosen, mother! A tomb—a sepulchre—but 'tis meet for such nuptials as mine—and what wedding guests! Was that pale woman in her shroud-like dress invited here by you? Tell me that, mother."
"My God, her senses are gone!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "Why did I venture into this horrible place?"
"Ask not why now, madam," rejoined the priest. "The hour for consideration is past. We must act. Let the marriage proceed, at all hazards; we will then take means to extricate ourselves from this accursed place."
"Remove that horrible object," said Mrs. Mowbray; "it fascinates the vision of my child."
"Lend me your hand, Richard Checkley," said Peter, sternly regarding the priest.
"No, no," replied the priest, shuddering; "I will not, cannot touch it. Do you alone remove it."
Peter approached Luke. The latter now offered no further opposition, and the body was taken away. The eyes of Eleanor followed it into the dark recesses of the vault; and when she could no longer distinguish the white flutter of the cereclothes, her laboring bosom seemed torn asunder with the profound sigh that burst from it, and her head declined upon her shoulder.
"Let me see that ring," said the priest, addressing Luke, who still held the wedding-ring between his fingers.
"I am not naturally superstitious," said Mrs. Mowbray; "whether my mind be affected with the horrors of this place, I know not; but I have a dread of that ring. She shall not use it."