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 her heart. She faltered and trembled. She sank back. “Oh, I can not, I can not!” she moaned. “Courage, dear one; it will soon be over,” whispered Dudleigh, in an agitated voice. Edith made a violent effort to regain her composure. But she felt helpless. Her senses seemed leaving her; her heart throbbed still more painfully; her brain whirled. She clung to Dudleigh. But as she clung to him she felt that he trembled as violently as she herself did. This made her feel calmer. She pitied him. Poor fellow, she thought, he sees my agitation. He thinks I hate him. He is broken-hearted. I must be calmer for his sake. “Where are the lights?” asked the clergyman. “Lights?” repeated Dudleigh. “Yes.” “Well, it won't do to have lights,” said he, in the same agitated voice. “I--I explained all that. The light will show through the window. We must go down into the vaults.” Outside, it was very obscure; inside, it was quite dark. Edit could see the outline of a large window and the white sheen of the clergyman's surplice; nothing more was visible. The clergyman stood waiting. Dudleigh went to the witness and conversed with him in a low whisper. “The witness,” said Dudleigh, as he came back, “forgot to bring lights. I have none. Have you any?” “Lights?--no,” said the clergyman. “What shall we do?” “I don't know.” “We can't go down into the vaults.” “I should say,” remarked the clergyman, “that since we have no lights, it is far better for us to remain where we are.”