said another voice, — and its tones were very stern. “Let him come forward, then!”
“Yes, Mr. Coverdale,” cried a woman’s voice, — clear and melodious, but, just then, with something unnatural in its chord, — ”you are welcome!
But you come half an hour too late, and have missed a scene which you would have enjoyed!”
I looked up and found myself nigh Eliot’s pulpit, at the base of which sat Hollingsworth, with Priscilla at his feet and Zenobia standing before them.