It was four o’clock, and the day of the expected fancy ball. The house, and its crowd of inmates, were in all the anxieties of preparation, and pleasing anticipation of the coming fÊte. The Baltimore boats have just arrived, bringing fresh accessions to the already thronged hotel; and the numerous waiters, and smartly-dressed chambermaids, might be seen hurrying here and there, busily preparing for the new comers. The long piazzas—that were in front and behind the central saloon—were full of gay groups: some sauntering to and fro, others in all the careless abandonnement of loose summer garb, were sitting with their cigars, and arguing about politics—lazily and prosily, as if even that was too much of an exertion for the warm weather. Groups of lovely women were promenading through the saloon, in tasteful dinner-dress—some laughing, flirting, some chess-playing with the officers of the garrison, in their uniforms. Nor was there wanting quite a number of sprightly “middies,” with their banded caps set jauntily on their heads, for Hampton Roads had two or three frigates, awaiting final orders, ere they put to sea.

Edith was neither in the saloon nor piazzas; but if you had searched closely, you might probably catch a glimpse of the rosy tips of her taper fingers, holding up a wee bit of the curtain, to allow her bright eyes to scan the arrivals, as they came up immediately in front of her window, amid the bustling porters, hand-barrows, and saunterers, from the wharf. Her little heart was beating wildly: and—although garbed only in her loose, white peignoir—never had she looked more lovely; for the rich flush of expectation was on her cheek, and her countenance was brightening and changing with every emotion.

Charles Lennard was expected that very evening! She left the saloon immediately after dinner, that she might be alone to watch: and here she has been stationed at the window, for the last half-hour, listening—with her heart—to every step, sounding on the gravel. At length, he comes—but not alone, as Edith had thought. No; he is one of a party, who are now approaching slowly up the walk, directly in front of Edith’s window—her room being one of those delightful ones, joining the centre saloon.

Well, as I said, here he comes, bearing several shawls, and walking slowly along with a graceful girl, in a fashionable traveling-dress, whose neatly gloved hand is resting on his arm, and whose thick veil hides features that Edith is scanning most uneasily. We will not say that a pang, very like the premonitory symptoms of the “green-eyed monster,” did not dart through her heart, playing sad havoc with her whilome hopeful feelings. Pale, and rather thinner than when she last saw him—but oh! how immeasurably superior, to her loving eyes, than all the men she had hitherto seen bowing homage to her charms. And now we must leave Edith, with feelings too excited for her evening siesta, and follow Charles and his party, who, of course, are no other than Bel Ashton, and her parents.

“A fancy ball! How provoking!” said she, as Charles announced to her what was in contemplation, as he rejoined her in one of the parlors, where they were waiting for their rooms to be prepared. “Yes, ’tis too annoying to have arrived so late, for I cannot possibly now dress in character, and I have no wish to enter the ball-room, save in costume.”

“But, my dear Bel,” expostulated Mrs. Ashton; “you have so many beautiful evening dresses: you must go indeed. After resting, I shall certainly peep in myself during the evening. And you, of course, will go, Mr. Lennard?”

“Yes, madam: I would not, if possible, miss seeing such an assemblage of my fair country-women, so soon after my return. I hope that my comparisons may not be deemed at all critical by you ladies, when I shall make them. But, Miss Bel, let me add my entreaties to those of your mother, and beg for the honor of becoming your escort for the evening.”

“I will not promise you yet,” said she, smiling; “but will let you know ere ’tis time to go. And, now, Mr. Lennard, hurry them with our rooms, if you have any compassion for me.”

Mr. Lennard again left them to execute her commands, and soon returning gave them the welcome intelligence that they were ready; and having escorted them to the door, left to betake himself to his, in order to recruit from the fatigue of three days’ travel.

He had not the smallest idea of Edith’s being an inmate of the hotel; or, indeed, of her being any where except in the quiet little village of A——. I really question if a thought had turned toward her, so absorbed had he been in his attentions to Miss Ashton, who, by the bye, though ever graceful and lady-like, was sometimes exacting in her demands.

Well, he went to sleep, and when he awoke from his refreshing nap, the room was shrouded in the dimness of twilight, and a tap at his door made him spring from the bed, and throwing on his coat, gave entrance to a servant, who brought lights, water, etc., as he had given orders, at that hour, and also a little perfumed billet, with “Miss Ashton’s compliments, and would be happy to accept of Mr. Lennard’s escort to the ball.”

At nine, he was at Mrs. Ashton’s door, where he was joined by the party, ready to enter the saloon.

Have you ever been at Old Point Comfort? If you have, ’tis needless for me to attempt to describe that spacious saloon, with its corridors on each side—large enough to contain with ease at least five hundred, without incommoding each other, by jutting elbows, or pinched feet, or by making the belle concerned about the appearance of her costume, as she mingles in the mÊlÉe, or what would appear a crowd in any common sized room. What a coup d’oeil struck our party as they entered the west door from the piazza. No garden ever gleamed more brightly with clustering flowers than did that gas-lit, lofty saloon, with its pillars, flowers and mirrors reflecting its extensive range and gay groups, making it look still larger and better filled. The splendid band from the garrison was in full play, wafting strains of delicious music over the illumined and perfumed scene. There were groups of fair forms and lovely faces, that would task the most skillful artist to depict, and match in their rich complexions and brilliant robes even Titian’s exquisite coloring. Fragments of conversations, and jets of sparkling—now murmuring—laughter would fall from their ruby lips, like snatches of delicious music. And there, in other groups, could be seen distinguished statesmen and orators—here the merchant, forgetful for the nonce of his schemes of profit, as he looked on his superbly bedecked wife or fascinating daughter; there the author, whose honeyed eloquence linked his readers’ hearts to his name with chains of gold, and caused many a pulse to throb as wildly as now beat the hearts of those young houries who grace this glad scene. Dancing had not as yet commenced.

A buzz of general admiration now follows a group who have just entered. It consisted of four persons, two ladies and their escorts, en character À la Cracoviene. Upon one, in particular, of that well dressed quartette did the eye rest in amaze at her radiant beauty of form and feature, and the exquisite grace of her undulating step reminding one of the dip of a sea-gull—so easy, so light, so gliding in its motion. Her cavalier was tall, thereby making the form which leaned on his arm almost petit by comparison. Her short, full skirt of white silk, with scarlet ribbons—tight-fitting jacket of velvet, of the same brilliant dye, with its buttons and embroidery of silver—scarlet boots, À la polka, and small velvet cap, with white marabouts, completed the costume, which exactly suited the arch look of the beautiful Edith. Her luxuriant tresses of light brown were braided in wide plaits, and tied en noeuds, with ribbons to match in color her jacket.

Charles fairly started, for—unchanged, except that added years but increased her loveliness, and that her coquettish dress and the dazzling light made her look still more ethereal and fairy-like—’twas his own Edith! Yes, the truant heart, which had been straying, like a thought of the mind, was instantly brought back to its allegiance; and the deep tone with which he uttered “Edith!” had all the fervor and tenderness of the moonlight trysting scene.

A pang, too, very much like jealousy, came to annoy him, at this crisis, when he saw her dispensing her smiles to the knot of gentlemen who almost surrounded her party, and seemed soliciting her hand for the polka quadrilles they were about forming. How inconsistent are those very same “lords of creation.”

There was Charles fuming and chafing, internally, because Edith by some magnetic attraction had not been able to single him out amid that crowd of five hundred!—and he had for a few brief hours past almost forgotten her existence. He determined to get clear of Bel as soon as politeness would allow, and claim from Edith her recognizance. At the same time, however, thoughts of writing a tiny note, and conveying it to her privately, crossed the “almost twilight of his brain;” for he was fearful that the young, untrained girl, who had never mingled in European courts, and been the admiration of mustached barons and stripling lords, might be apt to get up a scene.

He might have spared himself this harrowing thought, did he but know that Edith had actually seen him on her first entrance, and was determined on showing him that her happiness was not entirely dependent on her whilome, careless lover. The chains he had been so anxious to loose he now hugged, with anxiety and joy, the closer to him, as he, notwithstanding the brilliant remarks of Bel, (to which I am fearful he answered at random,) continued absorbed and wrapped in the contemplation of Edith’s peerless beauty, and her sprightly and lady-like manner. He now entered, con amore, into the truth of Shakspeare’s lines—

It so falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,

While we enjoy it; but, being lacked and lost,

Why then we know its value: then, we find

The virtue that possession would not show us

While it was ours.