Edmund, on his return to the ball room, made the best of his way, scarcely conscious what he did, to the very spot he had left; where, fixing his eyes again on the same object on which he had been gazing when called away by the juggler, he fell into a profound reverie. “What could have been the motive of the violence offered him? To whom could his existence—to whom could his destruction be of so much importance? He was not then too contemptible to have enemies!” A strange sensation, approaching to satisfaction, accompanied the thought.

The bustle attendant on changing partners, reminded him that Julia was engaged to him for the next set; he put in his claim, and was soon recalled to a sense of pleasure, for Julia was leaning on his arm. A shudder followed, however, as he thought of the mysterious words of the ruffian stranger. Again and again he told himself that they had been uttered but to throw him off his guard. While the villain spoke, had not his eye been ever watchful? had not his hand grasped the drawn sword beneath his cloak? evidently awaiting a moment of excited feeling, to strike the blow the more securely. But this solution of the affair, rational and just as it was, did not suffice to set his mind at rest. Might he not be connected with Julia’s family in some way as disgraceful to himself as fatal to his mad attachment? Might not some secret agent have been in consequence employed to put an end to his miserable existence, lest he should entail disgrace and crime on all connected with him? There were then beings connected with him! Who were those beings? and where were they? A thought of horror next crossed his mind: could it have been a parent who had employed the murderer’s hand, to blot out shame with blood? and his heart shrunk from a surmise too dreadful to be dwelt upon.

It had been previously arranged that the dance now about to commence was to take place in another apartment. The couples accordingly set out; Julia and Edmund led their own party, while before, behind, and on either side, moved a consolidated crowd in the same direction; so that retreat from the relative position once taken up was quite out of the question. Our hero and heroine were, consequently, obliged to keep, for a considerable time, a very painful situation in the immediate rear of a talkative party, who, without once looking behind them, proceeded with the following dialogue.

“We seem to abound in naval characters to-night,” observed a gentleman.

“You know it is quite a naval affair,” said a naval officer.

“True; commemoration of the battle of ?.”

“The day is worth remembering, sir!”

“Is Lord Fitz-Ullin here to-night?”

“No, but Captain Montgomery is, I understand.”

“Which is Captain Montgomery?” cried a lady.

“Which is Captain Montgomery?” said a second lady.

“Who is Captain Montgomery?” with emphasis on the word who, said a third lady, who was, by her own size and weight, making way for two slim little girls, her daughters, who, by the pressure of the crowd, were squeezed into the fat sides of their mother, like the off-shoots of a bulbous root.

“That is a question not so easily answered,” replied an equally fat gentleman.

“Is he any relation of Lord Fitz-Ullin’s?” enquired some one.

“None whatever,” replied an elderly naval officer, dryly.

“Lord Fitz-Ullin, then, was merely his patron?” said a young naval officer. “Merely,” resumed the elder, “and one half the talent and spirit, shown by Captain Montgomery, would have ensured to any young man Fitz-Ullin’s favour: he is quite enthusiastic about the service.”

“Fitz-Ullin was a very gay fellow in his youth,” observed a corpulent gentleman, “and Captain Montgomery being of unknown origin, may, after all, be no very distant relation of his lordship’s.”

“Very improbable!” rejoined the elder officer, “Fitz-Ullin would give one half his paternal estates for such a son, even in the way to which you allude.”

“His lordship has a son?”

“Yes, but Ormond, though a good-natured fellow, is quite unfit for his profession.”

“Strange that, too!” puffed out the corpulent gentleman, “for he is strikingly like his father.”

“There are some officers on before us,” said one of the young ladies, “I wonder is Captain Montgomery among them!” “I quite long to see him, I understand he is so handsome,” said a third lady. “He seems to be a general favourite with the ladies,” said the younger officer: “he is to be married shortly, I hear, to Lady Susan Morven: luck that! she has fifty thousand, I’m told.” “To Lady Julia L?, I have heard,” interposed the elder officer. “I beg your pardon,” said the fat lady, “Lady Julia L? is to be married immediately to the Marquis of H?.” “A more suitable match, no doubt,” replied the elder officer; “but heiresses will sometimes please themselves, you know; and I have heard, that Lady Julia L? has been attached to Captain Montgomery from her infancy; and that she is determined to marry him in spite of all her friends, as soon as she shall be of age.” Just at this particular moment, Edmund found the impelling torrent press so weightily against his fair companion, that it was absolutely imperative upon him to draw her closer to himself than she had been.

“And Lord L?’s great estates,” added the younger officer, “must go between his daughters, at his death, whoever they marry; so the gallant Captain knows what he is about, it seems.”

“He is accustomed to capturing rich prizes!” said the corpulent gentleman. A laugh followed this most original piece of wit.

“The friends,” interposed the plump lady, “can never consent to a young woman of her high connexions, throwing herself away upon a mere soldier of fortune.”

“I have always understood,” observed another gentleman, “that Lady Julia L? was engaged to her cousin, Mr. St. Aubin. Indeed I had it from one who, I think, said that he had it from St. Aubin himself; or, at least, that St. Aubin admitted it.”

All this passed among a group, who, though masked, evidently knew each other. Their arrival at the apartment they had been all this time imperceptibly approaching, and the consequent spreading of the crowd, at length enabled Julia and Edmund to hasten from the vicinity of the party, which had so long annoyed them. Edmund, notwithstanding his causes for abstraction, was aroused by topics so interesting; he thought of the strange aside speeches of Henry, during the mummery of the juggler, and longed to know how Julia would treat the subject of her supposed engagement to her cousin. As to what had been said of himself, he dare not allude to it, he dare not even think of it. At length he ventured to whisper a sort of introductory sentence, in the shape of an unmeaning compliment, saying—“How enviable a lot would Henry’s be, if there were any truth in the surmises of those people!” Julia blushed, but made no reply. So absurd a report did not seem to require contradiction; and, as she was too innocent to think any compliment of Edmund’s unmeaning, his implied question was lost in the pleasure of hearing him say, that to be preferred by her would be an enviable lot; nor did she perceive that her silence and her blush had at least surprised, if not alarmed him.

The dance now commenced, and put an end to conversation. It concluded, and Edmund, as he led Julia out of the set, began to say something about the necessity he should be under, of leaving Arandale the next morning at a very early hour; in pursuance of the journey, which was this morning so agreeably interrupted. At this moment Julia’s hand was claimed by Lord K?.

Previous to sitting down to supper, the whole assembly assumed an appearance of uninterrupted splendour. Every coarse or unbecoming disguise, was exchanged for its very opposite of elegance, or magnificence; every one being determined to look as well as possible unmasked. The young lady who cried primroses, proved to be the first public singer of the day; the remainder of the group of flower girls, the rest of the best set, engaged by Lord Arandale for the occasion. They performed, during supper, some of the best scenes of a favourite opera. A ballet followed, led by the pert miss of the wheelbarrow, who was an excellent dancer.

Those, however, who best knew the Earl, could perceive, notwithstanding the efforts he made to entertain his company, that during this evening of unparalleled gaiety and splendour, there was a slight shade of melancholy on his brow; and a tendency, while he sat at supper, to that, scarcely observable, movement of the head, before mentioned.