On arriving at the chapel-door, Bernard, who now came first, tried to open it, but found that it was secured within. He then inflicted on it that summons which, as was set forth in a preceding chapter, called Sir Edgar to a parley, and so opportunely interrupted the progressing marriage. His demand to be admitted in the name of the Queen, couched in the terms already recorded, raised in the breasts of the several inmates the wildest and most conflicting feelings. Sir Edgar, however, being unconscious of having transgressed the law, would have opened the door without hesitation; but, as he placed his hand on the bolt, the priest called to him to forbear. “Let me first don my cloak and peruke,” the priest said, drawing those articles of disguise from behind the altar. “My hour is not yet come.” Though he appeared to be palsied with fear, he lost no time, after he had caught the cloak and wig up, in donning his disguise, and quickly set it in order. “Now,” he said to Sir Edgar, as he quitted the suspicious vicinity of the altar, and sprang into the middle of the chapel, “thou mayst admit them.” Sir Edgar withdrew the bolt, and, stepping back a pace, the door was pushed open. The next moment, Bernard, and Master Peters, the constable, with Adam Green, passed into the chapel. Bernard’s eye swept round the chapel at a glance. But on the face of Evaline, who was standing right before him, a pace or two removed from the door, it came to a pause, and seemed to dive to her very heart. It needed little penetration, when thus viewing her features, to see how her heart was moved, and how completely it had given itself over to despair. Even shame could not shake that despair; and though, it is true, she could not endure to meet and answer his glance, and had turned her eyes on the floor, her complexion displayed no shade of confusion, but continued locked in impenetrable pallor. Bernard’s bosom swelled as he gazed upon her, and his manly features, which had just before been flushed with rage, assumed a softer expression, and beamed with tenderness and sympathy. “Which of ye hath done this?” he cried, pointing at Evaline. Don Felix, who had hitherto been perfectly passive, here stepped forward a pace, and interposed. “By what right, Sir, dost thou ask?” he demanded. “Nay, by what right art thou here at all?” “Hold thee quiet, Sir Spaniard!” answered Bernard. “I could approve my right, an’ it so contented me, out of hand, and on no other person than thine own.” Don Felix started. “Whoever thou mayst be,” cried Sir Edgar, stepping in to his kinsman’s rescue, “it is but meet”-- “Give me leave a while,” interrupted Bernard. “’Tis with thee I would speak, Mistress de Neville. I ask thee here, afore God and man, is this marriage to proceed?” He paused for a reply; but Evaline, whether she was sensible of what he said, or not, was silent as marble. “Is the marriage to proceed, mistress?” repeated Bernard.