after her. Then she turned to step down upon the grass. She saw through
the gloom a figure. She recognized it. It was Dudleigh.

He held out his hand and took hers. As before, his hand was icy cold,
and he trembled violently, but Edith also was trembling with excitement
and agitation, and was therefore too much taken up with her own feelings
to notice those of others. Dudleigh did not say a word, but started off
at once, leading her by the hand.

Now that she had gone thus far, the act seemed too terrible to be
endured, and she would have give any thing to go back. There came over
her a frightful feeling of apprehension--a deep, dark horror,
unutterable, intolerable. But it was now too late--she had to go on. And
on she went, clinging to Dudleigh, who himself showed an agitation equal
to hers. Thus they walked on in silence. Each might have heard the
strong throbbing of the other's heart, had not the excitement of each
been so overwhelming. In this way they went on, trembling,
horror-stricken, till at length they reached the chapel.

It was a dark and sombre edifice, in the Egyptian style, now darker and
more sombre in the gloom of evening and the shadows of surrounding
trees. The door was open. As they entered, two figures advanced from the
shadows of the trees. One of these wore a white surplice; the other was
undistinguishable in the gloom, save that his stature was that of a
tall, large man.

"The clergyman and the--witness," said Dudleigh, in a tremulous whisper.

As these two entered, one of them closed the door. The dull creaking of
the hinges grated harshly on Edith's ears, and struck fresh horror to