A similar thought was evidently passing through the mind of the artist. Despair caused him to stand immovable, staring in Daphne's direction, regardless of the people's murmurs that rose on the air like the sound of many waters--regardless of the advice of the attendants to withdraw quietly. Like a statue he stood, deaf to their appeals, till at length, losing their patience, the attendants, aided by some of of the worshippers, laid hands on him to enforce his removal. Their grasp seemed to rouse all the latent fury of his nature. "Touch me at your peril!" he cried, struggling to free himself from their grasp and actually striking out among them with clenched hands. "Who dare accuse me of guilt? I have not deserved this," he continued, panting and breathless, as he was dragged with more force than ceremony from the chancel. "Let me go. Release my wrists. I am going quietly, I tell you. Will you not take my word? Cowards! Oh, if my hands were but free! I ... let me go ... I tell you ... let me----" The oaken door of the sacristy removed the struggling group from our view; and the scene that for the space of a few minutes had degraded a holy solemnity to the level of a stage-representation was at an end. "Why, the boy must be mad!" cried my uncle, as Angelo's cries became lost in the distance. Daphne lay a dead weight in my arms. "She has fainted," I whispered to her father; and I bore her far away from the worshippers to the entrance of the cathedral for the cool morning air to revive her. It is impossible to describe my thoughts as I held her close to me. Once before, on the very morn of her intended wedding, she had been snatched away; and now on a second occasion, when another rival seemed on the point of winning her, and of triumphing over me, events had conspired to destroy all his hopes. Was there not a fatality in this? Was not Destiny reserving Daphne for me alone? "No one shall ever have you but myself," I murmured, as I gazed on her beautiful face. An old woman had been slowly following us. She now offered us her assistance. "Let me see to her," she said, as I laid her at the pedestal of a font near the porch, and, kneeling, sustained her head on my knee. "Poor pretty lady, she will soon come to." And she proceeded to remove Daphne's hat, and to loosen her cloak and dress. We waited a few moments, but she lay as still and white as the alabaster font above her. "Is there no water to be had?" said my uncle, lifting the lid of the baptismal basin and peeping in. "None here. Ah! the holy water at the porch! Good!" "The saints forbid!" exclaimed the old dame fervently. "It would be sacrilege." "The holy water couldn't be put to a better use," I said, as my uncle darted to look for some receptacle to convey the water in. "Is not this lady's name Daphne Leslie?" inquired the old dame, chafing the hands of her patient. "Yes; how did you learn it?" I asked in amazement.