If we had heard that she was dead
We hastily had cried,
"She was so richly favored
God will forgive her pride!"
But now to see her living death—
Power, glory, arts, all gone—
Her empire lost and her poor breath
Still vainly struggling on!
—Milnes.

The "Ocean Empress" steamed her way eastward. The month was favorable; the weather bright; the wind fair and the sea calm. Every circumstance promised a pleasant voyage. None but a few unreasonable people grew seasick; and even they could not keep it up long.

There was a very select and agreeable set of passengers in the first cabin.

But Lord and Lady Vincent were the only titled persons present; and from both European and American voyagers received a ridiculous amount of homage.

Claudia enjoyed the worship, though she despised the worshipers. Her spirits had rebounded from their depression. She was Lady Vincent, and in the present enjoyment and future anticipation of all the honors of her rank. She gloried in the adulation her youth, beauty, wealth, and title commanded from her companions on the steamer; hut she gloried more in the anticipation of future successes and triumphs on a larger scale and more extensive field.

She rehearsed in imagination her arrival in London, her introduction to the family of the viscount; her presentation to the queen; and the sensation she would produce at her majesty's drawing room, where she was resolved, even if it should cost her her whole fortune, to eclipse every woman present, not only in the perfection of her beauty, but also in the magnificence of her dresses and the splendor of her jewels. And after that what a season she would pass in London! Whoever was queen of England, she would he queen of beauty and fashion.

And then she would visit with Lord Vincent all the different seats of his family; and every seat would be the scene of a new ovation! As the bride of the heir she would be idolized by the tenants and retainers of his noble family!

She would, with Lord Vincent, make a tour of the Continent; she would see everything worth seeing in nature and in art, modern and antique; she would be presented in succession at every foreign court, and everywhere by her beauty and splendor achieve new successes and triumphs! She would frequent the circles of American ministers, for the express purpose of meeting there her countrywomen, and overwhelming by her magnificence those who had once, dared to sneer at that high flavor of Indian blood which had given luster to her raven hair and fire to her dark eyes! Returning to England after this royal progress on the Continent she would pass her days in cherishing her beauty and keeping up her state.

And the course of her life should be like that of the sun, beautiful, glorious, regnant! each splendid phase more dazzling than any that had preceded it. Was not this worth the price she paid for it?

Such were Claudia's dreams and visions. Such the scenes that she daily in imagination rehearsed. Such the future life she delighted to contemplate. And nothing—neither the attentions of her husband, the conversation of her companions, nor the beauty and glory of sea and sky—could win her from the contemplation of the delightful subject.

Meanwhile in that lovely October weather the "Empress" steamed her way over the sapphire blue sea and neared the cliffs of England.

At length on a fine afternoon in October they entered the mouth of the Mersey River, and two hours later landed at Liverpool.

Soon all was bustle with the custom house officers.

Leaving their luggage in charge of his valet, to be got through the custom house, Lord Vincent hurried Claudia into a cab, followed her, and gave the direction:

"To the Crown and Miter."

"Why not go to the Adelphi? All Americans go there, and I think it the best hotel in the city," said Claudia.

"The Crown and Miter will serve our turn," was the curt reply of the viscount.

Claudia looked up in surprise at the brusqueness of his answer, and then ventured the opinion:

"It is a first-class hotel, of course?"

"Humph!" answered his lordship.

They left the respectable-looking street through which they were driving and turned into a narrow by-street and drove through a perfect labyrinth of narrow lanes and alleys, made hideous by dilapidated and dirty buildings and ragged and filthy people, until at last they reached a dark, dingy-looking inn, whose creaking sign bore in faded letters: "The Crown and Miter."

"It is not here that you are taking me, Lord Vincent?" exclaimed Claudia in surprise and displeasure, as her eyes fell upon this house and sign.

"It certainly is, Lady Vincent," replied his lordship, with cool civility, as he handed her out of the cab.

"Why this—this is worse than the tavern you took me to in New York.
I never was in such a house before in all my life."

"It will have all the attractions of novelty, then."

"Lord Vincent, I do beg that you will not take me into this squalid place," she said shrinking back.

"You might find less attractive places than this in the length and breadth of the island," he replied, as he drew her hand within his arm and led her into the house.

They found themselves in a narrow passage, with stained walls, worn oil-cloth, and a smell of meat, onions, and smoke.

"Oh!" exclaimed Claudia, in irrepressible disgust.

"You will get used to these little inconveniences after a while, my dear," said his lordship.

A man with a greasy white apron and a soiled napkin approached them and bowed.

"A bedroom and parlor, and supper immediately," was Lord Vincent's order to this functionary.

"Yes, sir. We can be happy to accommodate you, sir, with a bedroom; the parlor, sir, is out of our power; we having none vacant at the present time; but to-morrow, sir—" began the polite waiter, when Lord Vincent cut him short with:

"Show us into the bedroom, then."

"Yes, sir." And bowing, the waiter went before them up the narrow stairs and led them into a dusky, fady, gloomy-looking chamber, whose carpet, curtains, and chair coverings seemed all of mingled hues of browns and grays, and from their fadiness and dinginess almost indescribable in color.

The waiter set the candle on the tall wooden mantelpiece and inquired:

"What would you please to order for supper?"

"What will you have, madam?" inquired Lord Vincent, referring to
Claudia.

"Nothing on earth, in this horrid place! I am heart-sick," she added, in a low, sad tone.

"The lady will take nothing. You may send me a beefsteak and a bottle of Bass' pale ale," said his lordship, seemingly perfectly careless as to Claudia's want of appetite.

"Yes, sir; shall I order it served in the coffee room?"

"No, send it up here, and don't be long over it."

The waiter left the room. And Lord Vincent walked up and down the floor in the most perfect state of indifference to Claudia's distress.

She threw herself into a chair and burst into tears, exclaiming:

"You do not care for me at all! What a disgusting place to bring a woman—not to say a lady—into! If you possessed the least respect or affection for me you would never treat me so!"

"I fancy that I possess quite as much respect and affection for you,
Lady Vincent, as you do, or ever did for me," he answered.

And Claudia knew that he spoke the truth, and she could not contradict him; but she said:

"Suppose there is little love lost between us, still we might treat each other decently. It is infamous to bring me here."

"You will not be required to stay here long."

"I hope not, indeed!"

At this moment the waiter entered to lay the cloth for the viscount's supper.

"What time does the first train for Aberdeen leave?" inquired the viscount.

"The first train, sir, leaves at four o'clock in the morning, sir; an uncomfortable hour, sir; and it is besides the parliamentary, sir."

"That will do. See if my people have come up from the custom house."

"Yes, sir; I beg your pardon, sir, what name?" inquired the perplexed waiter.

"No matter. Go look for a fellow who has in charge a large number of boxes and a party of male and female gorillas."

The man left the room to do his errand and to report below that the person in "Number 13" was a showman with a lot of man-monkeys from the interior of Africa.

But Claudia turned to her husband in astonishment.

"Did I understand you to inquire about the train to Aberdeen?"

"Yes," was the short reply.

"But—I thought we were going to London—to Hurstmonceux House—"

"Belgravia? No, my dear, we are going to Scotland."

"But—why this change of plan? My father and myself certainly understood that I was to be taken to London and introduced to your family and afterwards presented to her majesty."

"My dear, the London season is over ages ago. Nobody that is anybody will be found in town until February. The court is at Balmoral, and the world is in Scotland. We go to Castle Cragg."

"But why could you not have told me that before?"

"My dear, I like to be agreeable. And people who are always setting others right are not so."

"Is Lord Hurstmonceux at Castle Cragg?"

"The earl is at Balmoral, in attendance upon her majesty."

"Then why do we not go to Balmoral?"

"The queen holds no drawing rooms there."

Claudia suspected that he was deceiving her; but she felt that it would do no good to accuse him of deception.

The waiter returned to the room, bringing Lord Vincent's substantial supper, arranged on a tray.

"I have inquired below, sir; and there is no one arrived having in charge your gorillas. But there is a person with a panorama, sir; and there is a person with three negro persons, sir," said the waiter.

"He will do. Send up the 'person with three negro persons,'" said the viscount.

And once more the waiter left the room.

In a few moments Lord Vincent's valet entered.

"Frisbie, we leave for Scotland by the four o'clock train, to-morrow morning. See to it."

"Yes, my lord. I beg your lordship's pardon, but is your lordship aware that it is the parliamentary?"

"Certainly; but it is also the first. See to it that your gorillas are ready. And—Frisbie."

"Yes, my lord."

"Go and engage a first-class carriage for our own exclusive use."

"Yes, my lord," said the man, with his hand still on the door, as if waiting further orders.

"Lord Vincent, I would be obliged if you would tell him to send one of my women to me," said Claudia coldly.

"Women? Oh! Here, Frisbie! send the female gorillas up."

"I said one of my women, the elder one, he may send."

"Frisbie, send the old female gorilla up, then."

The man went out of the room. And Claudia turned upon her husband:

"Lord Vincent, I do not know in what light you consider it; but I think your conduct shows bad wit and worse manners."

"Lady Vincent, I am sorry you should disapprove of it," said his lordship, falling to upon his beefsteak and ale, the fumes of which soon filled the room.

But that was nothing to what was coming. When he had finished his supper he coolly took a pipe from his pocket, filled it with "negro- head," and prepared to light it. Then stopping in the midst of his operations, he looked at Claudia and inquired:

"Do you dislike tobacco smoke?"

"I do not know, my lord. No gentleman ever smoked in my presence," replied Claudia haughtily.

"Oh, then, of course, you don't know, and never will until you try.
There is nothing like experiment."

And Lord Vincent put the pipe between his lips and puffed away vigorously. The room was soon filled with smoke. That, combined with the smell of the beefsteak and the ale, really sickened Claudia. She went to the window, raised it and looked out.

"You will take cold," said his lordship.

"I would rather take cold than breathe this air," was her reply.

"Just as you please; but I hadn't," he said. And he went and shut down the window.

Amazement held Claudia still for a moment; she could scarcely believe in such utter disregard of her feelings. At last, in a voice vibrating with ill-suppressed indignation, she said:

"My lord, the air of this room makes me ill. If you must smoke, can you not do so somewhere else?"

"Where?" questioned his lordship, taking the pipe from his mouth for an instant.

"Is there not a smoking room, reading room, or something of the sort, for gentlemen's accommodation?"

"In this place? Ha, ha, ha! Well, there is the taproom!"

"Then why not go there?" inquired Claudia, who had no very clear idea of what the taproom really was.

Lord Vincent's face flushed at what he seemed to think an intentional affront.

"I can go into the street," he said.

And he arose and put on his greatcoat and his cap, and turned up the collar of his coat and turned down the fall of his cap, so that but little of his face would be seen, and so walked out. Then Claudia raised the window to ventilate the room, and rang the bell to summon the waiter.

"Take this service away and send the chambermaid to me," she said to him when he came.

And a few minutes after he had cleared the table and left the room the chambermaid, accompanied by old Katie, entered.

"Is there a dressing room connected with this chamber?" Lady Vincent inquired.

"Law, no, mum! there isn't sich a place in the house," said the chambermaid.

"This is intolerable! You may go; my own servants will wait on me."

The girl went out.

"Unpack my traveling bag and lay out my things, Katie," said Lady
Vincent, when she was left alone with her nurse.

But the old woman raised her hands, and rolled up her eyes, exclaiming:

"Well, Miss Claudia, child!—I mean my ladyship, ma'am!—if this is Ingland, I never want to see it again the longest day as ever I live!"

"Liverpool is not England, Katie."

"Live-a-pool, is it? More like Die-a-pool!" grumbled old Katie, as she assisted her lady to change her traveling dress for a loose wrapper.

"Now, what have you had to eat, my ladyship?"

"Nothing, Katie. I felt as if I could not eat anything cooked in this ill-looking house."

"Nothing to eat! I'll go right straight downstairs and make you some tea and toast myself," said Katie.

And she made good her words by bringing a delicate little repast, of which Claudia gratefully partook.

And then Katie, with an old nurse's tenderness, saw her mistress comfortably to bed, and cleared and darkened the room and left her to repose.

But Claudia did not sleep. Her thoughts were too busy with the subject of Lord Vincent's strange conduct from the time that he had at Niagara received those three suspicious letters up to this time, when with his face hid he was walking up and down the streets of Liverpool.

That he sought concealment she felt assured by many circumstances: his coming to this obscure tavern; his choosing to take his meals and smoke his pipe in his bedroom; and his walking out with his face muffled—all of which was in direct antagonism to Lord Vincent's fastidious habits; and, finally, his taking a whole carriage in the railway train, for no other purpose than to have himself and his party entirely isolated from their fellow-passengers.

Lord Vincent came in early, and, thanks to the narcotic qualities of the ale, he soon fell asleep.

Claudia had scarcely dropped into a doze before, at the dismal hour of three o'clock in the morning, they were roused up to get ready for the train. They made a hurried toilet and ate a hasty breakfast, and then set out for the station.

It was a raw, damp, foggy morning. The atmosphere seemed as dense and as white as milk. No one could see a foot in advance. And Claudia wondered how the cabmen managed to get along at all.

They reached the station just as the train was about to start, and had barely time to hurry into the carriage that had been engaged for them before the whistle shrieked and they were off. Fortunately Frisbie had sent the luggage on in advance, and got it ticketed.

The carriage had four back and four front seats. Lord and Lady Vincent occupied two of the back seats, and their four servants the front ones. As they went on the fog really seemed to thicken. They traveled slowly and stopped often. And Claudia, in surprise, remarked upon these facts.

"One might as well be in a stage—for speed," she complained.

"It is the parliamentary train," he replied.

"I have heard you say that before; but I do not know what you mean by 'parliamentary' as applied to railway trains."

"It is the cheap train, the slow train, the people's train; in fact, one that, in addition to first- and second-class carriages, drags behind it an interminable length of rough cars, in which the lower orders travel," said his lordship.

"But why is it called the 'parliamentary'?"

"Because it was instituted by act of parliament for the accommodation of the people, or perhaps because it is so heavy and slow."

On they went, hour after hour, stopping every three or four miles, while the fog seemed still to condense and whiten.

At noon the train reached York, and stopped twenty minutes for refreshment. Lord Vincent did not leave the carriage, but sent his valet out to the station restaurant to procure what was needful for his party. And while the passengers were all hurrying to and fro, and looking in at the carriage, he drew the curtains of his windows, and sat back far in his seat.

Claudia would gladly have left the train and spent the interval in contemplating, even if it were only the outside of the ancient cathedral of which she had read and heard so much.

Lord Vincent assured her there was no time to lose in sight-seeing then, but promised that she should visit York at some future period.

And the train started again. They began to leave the fog behind them as they approached the seacoast. They soon came in sight of the North Sea, beside which the railway ran for some hundred miles. Here all was bright and clear. And Claudia for a time forgot all the suspicions and anxieties that disturbed her mind, and with all a stranger's interest gazed on the grandeur of the scenery and dreamed over the associations it awakened.

Here "lofty Seaton-Delaval" was pointed out to her. And Tinemouth, famed in song for its "haughty prioress," and "Holy Isle," memorable for the inhumation of Constance de Beverly.

At sunset they crossed Berwick bridge and entered Scotland.

Claudia was entirely lost in gazing on the present landscape, and dreaming of its past history. Here the association between scenery and poetry was perfect. Nature is ever young—and this was the very scene and the very hour described in Scott's immortal poem, and as Claudia gazed she murmured the lines:

"Day set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone;
The battled towers, the donjon keep,
The flanking walls that round it sweep,
In yellow luster shone,"

Yes! it was the very scene, viewed at the very hour, just as the poet described it to have been two hundred years before, when

"Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye,
Of Tamworth tower and town,"

crossed with his knightly train into Scotland. There was the setting sun burnishing the brown tops of the Cheviot hills; gilding the distant ruined towers of Norham Castle, and lighting up the waters of the Tweed.

But there is little time for either observation or dreaming in a railway train.

They stopped but a few minutes at Berwick, and then shot off northward, still keeping near the coast.

Claudia looked out upon the gray North Sea, and enjoyed the magnificence of the coast scenery as long as the daylight lasted.

When it was growing dark Lord Vincent said:

"You had just as well close that window, Claudia. It will give us all cold; and besides, you can see but little now."

"I can see Night drawing her curtain of darkness around the bed of the troubled waters. It is worth watching," murmured Claudia dreamily.

"Bosh!" was the elegant response of the viscount; "you will see enough of the North Sea before you have done with it, I fancy." And with an emphatic clap he let down the window.

Claudia shrugged her shoulders and turned away, too proud to dispute a point that she was powerless to decide.

They sped on towards Edinboro', through the darkness of one of the darkest nights that ever fell. Even had the window been open Claudia could not have caught a glimpse of the scenery. She had no idea that they were near the capital of Scotland until the train ran into the station. Then all was bustle among those who intended to get out there.

But through all the bustle Lord Vincent and his party kept their seats,

"I am very weary of this train. I have not left my seat for many hours. Can we not stop over night here? I should like to see Edinboro' by daylight," Claudia inquired.

"What did you say?" asked Lord Vincent, with nonchalance.

Claudia repeated her question, adding:

"I should like to remain a day or two in Edinboro'. I wish to see the Castle, and Holyrood Palace and Abbey, and Roslyn and Craigmiller, and——"

"Everything else, of course. Bother! We have no time for that. I have taken our tickets for Aberdeen, and mean to sleep at Castle Cragg to-night," replied the viscount.

Claudia turned away her head to conceal the indignant tears that arose to her eyes. She was beginning to discover that her comfort, convenience, and inclination were just about the last circumstances that her husband was disposed to take into consideration. What a dire reverse for her, whose will from her earliest recollection had been the law to all around her!

The train started again and sped on its way through the darkness of the night towards Aberdeen, where they arrived about eight o'clock.

"Here at last the railway journey ends, thank Heaven," sighed Claudia, as the train slackened its speed and crawled into the station. And the usual bustle attending its arrival ensued.

Fortunately for Claudia, the viscount found himself too much fatigued after about sixteen hours' ride to go farther that night. So he directed Mr. Frisbie to engage two cabs to take himself and his party to a hotel.

And when they were brought up he handed Claudia, who was scarcely able to stand, into the first one, and ordered Frisbie to put the "gorillas" into the other. And they drove to a fourth- or fifth-rate inn, a degree or two dirtier, dingier, and darker than the one they had left at Liverpool.

But Claudia was too utterly worn out in body, mind, and spirit to find fault with any shelter that promised to afford her the common necessaries of life, of which she had been deprived for so many hours.

She drank the tea that was brought her, without questioning its quality. And as soon as she laid her head on her pillow she sank into the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion.

She awoke late the next morning to take her first look at the old town through a driving rain that lashed the narrow windows of her little bedroom. Lord Vincent had already risen and gone out.

She rang for her servants. Old Katie answered the bell, entering with uplifted hands and eyes, exclaiming:

"Well, my ladyship! if this ain't the outlandishest country as ever was! Coming over from t'other side we had the ocean unnerneaf of us, and now 'pears to me like we has got it overhead of us, by the fog and mist and rain perpetual! And if this is being of lords and ladyships, I'd a heap leifer be misters and mist'esses, myself."

"I quite agree with you, Katie," sighed Lady Vincent, as, with the old woman's assistance, she dressed herself.

"It seems to me like as if we was regerlerly sold, my ladyship," said old Katie mysteriously.

"Hush! Where are we to have breakfast—not in this disordered room,
I hope?"

"No, my ladyship. They let us have a little squeezed-up parlor that smells for all the world as if a lot of men had been smoking and drinking in it all night long. My lordship's down there, waiting for his breakfast now. Pretty place to fetch a 'spectable cullored pusson to, let alone a lady! Well, one comfort, we won't stay here long, cause I heard my lordship order Mr. Frisbie to go and take two inside places and four outside places in the stage-coach as leaves this mornin' for Ban. 'Ban,' 'Ban'; 'pears like it's been all ban and no blessin' ever since we done lef' Tanglewood."

Lady Vincent did not think it worth while to correct Katie. She knew by experience that all attempts to set her right would be lost labor.

She went downstairs and joined Lord Vincent in the little parlor, where a breakfast was laid of which it might be said that if the coffee was bad and the bannocks worse, the kippered herrings were delicious.

After breakfast they took their places in or on the Banff mail coach; Lord and Lady Vincent being the sole passengers inside; and all their servants occupying the outside. And so they set out through the drizzling rain and by the old turnpike road to Banff.

This road ran along the edge of the cliffs overhanging the sea—the sea, ever sublime and beautiful, even when dimly seen through the dull veil of a Scotch mist.

Claudia was not permitted to open the window; but she kept the glass polished that she might look out upon the wild scenery.

Late in the afternoon they reached the town of Banff, where they stopped only long enough to order a plain dinner and engage flies to take them on to their final destination, Castle Cragg, which in truth Claudia was growing very anxious to behold.