With death's chills her limbs are shivering, With death's gasp the lips are quivering, Fast her soul away is flying. O'er the mountain-top it fleeteth, And the skyey wonders greeteth, Singing loud as stars it meeteth On its way. Hark! the sullen Soul-bell tolling, Hollowly in echoes rolling, Seems to say-- "She will ope her eyes--oh, never! Quenched their dark light--gone for ever! She is dead." The marriage group yet lingered near the altar, awaiting, it would seem, permission from the gipsy queen to quit the cell. Luke stirred not. Clasped in his own, the cold hand of his bride detained him; and when he would have moved, her tightened grasp prevented his departure. Mrs. Mowbray's patience was exhausted by the delay. She was not altogether free from apprehension. "Why do we linger here?" she whispered to the priest. "Do you, father, lead the way." "The crowd is dense," replied Checkley. "They resist my effort." "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 Suffer her not to be withdrawn from your hand, if you would not lose her.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." "Ha! now it comes," thought Peter. "And who, may I ask," said he, aloud, "amongst this goodly company, is to be her bridegroom?" "The best amongst them," returned Barbara--"Sir Luke Rookwood." "He has a bride already," replied Peter. "She may be _removed_," said Barbara, with bitter and peculiar emphasis. "Dost understand my meaning now?" "I will not understand it," said Peter. "You cannot mean to destroy her who now stands at the altar?"