"Are we prisoners here?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, in alarm.
"Let me make the attempt," cried Luke, with fiery impatience. "I will force a passage out."
"Quit not your bride," whispered Peter, "as you value her safety. Heed not aught else. She alone is in danger. Suffer her not to be withdrawn from your hand, if you would not lose her. Remain here. I will bring the matter to a speedy issue."
"Enough," replied Luke; "I stir not hence." And he drew his bride closer towards him. He stooped to imprint a kiss upon her lips. A cold shudder ran through her frame as he touched them, but she resisted not his embrace.
Peter's attempt to effect an egress was as unsuccessful as that of the priest. Presenting Excalibur at his bosom, the knight of Malta challenged him to stand.
"You cannot pass," exclaimed the knight; "our orders are peremptory."
"What am I to understand by this?" said Peter, angrily. "Why are we detained?"
"You will learn all anon," returned Barbara. "In the meantime you are my prisoners—or, if you like not the phrase, my wedding guests."
"The wedding is complete," returned the sexton; "the bride and bridegroom are impatient to depart, and we, the guests—albeit some of us may be no foes to darkness—desire not to hold our nuptial revels here."
"Sybil's wedding has not taken place," said Barbara; "you must tarry for that."