EVERY day the position grew more critical and embarrassing. The day appointed for the nuptials was now very near, and the bridegroom not only out of sight but wholly untraceable. What was to be done?

A long letter from Stanley Lake told Lord Chelford, in detail, all the measures adopted by that energetic young gentleman for the discovery of the truant knight :

"I have been at his club repeatedly, as also at his lodgings still his, though he has not appeared there since his arrival in town. The billiard-marker at his club knows his haunts; and I have taken the liberty to employ, through him, several persons who are acquainted with his appearance, and, at my desire, frequent those places with a view to discovering him, and bringing about an interview with me. He was seen, I have reason to believe, a day or two before my arrival here, at a low place called the "Millers' Hall," in the city, where members of the "Fancy" resort, at one of their orgies, but not since. I have left notes for him wherever he is likely to call, entreating an interview. On my arrival I was sanguine about finding him; but I regret to say my hopes have very much declined, and I begin to think he must have changed his quarters. If you have heard from him within the last few days, perhaps you will be so kind as to send me the envelope of his letter, which, by its postmark, may possibly throw some light, or hint some theory as to his possible movements. He is very clever; and having taken this plan of concealing his residence, will conduct it skilfully. If the case were mine I should be much tempted to speak with the detective authorities, and try whether they might not give their assistance, of course without eclat. But this is, I am aware, open to objection, and, in fact, would not be justifiable, except under the very peculiar urgency of the case. Will you be so good as to say what you think upon this point; also, to instruct me what you authorize me to say should I be fortunate enough to meet him. At present I am hardly in a position to say more

than an acquaintance-never, I fear, very cordial on his part-would allow ; which, of course, could hardly exceed a simple mention of your anxiety to be placed in communication with him. If I might venture to suggest, I really think a peremptory alternative should be presented to him. Writing, however, in ignorance of what may since have passed at Brandon, I may be assuming a state of things which, possibly, no longer exists. Pray understand that in any way you please to employ me, I am entirely at your command. It is also possible, though I hardly hope it, that I may be able to communicate something definite by this evening's post. I do not offer any conjectures as to the cause of this very embarrassing procedure on his part; and indeed I find a great difficulty in rendering myself useful, with any likelihood of really succeeding, without at the same time exposing myself to

an imputation of impertinence. You will easily see how difficult is my position. Whatever may be the cause of Mark Wylder's present line of conduct, it appears to me that if he really did attend that meeting at the "Millers' Hall," there cannot be anything very serious weighing upon his spirits. My business will detain me here, I rather think, three days longer."

By return of post Lord Chelford wrote to Stanley Lake :

:

"I am so very much obliged to you for all the trouble you have taken. The measures which you have adopted are, I think, most judicious; and I should not wish, on consideration, to speak to any official person. I think it better to trust entirely to the means you have already employed. Like you, I do not desire to speculate as to the causes of Wylder's extraordinary conduct; but, all the circumstances considered, I cannot avoid concluding, as you do, that there must be some very serious reason for it. I enclose a note, which, perhaps, you will be so good as to give him, should you meet before you leave town."

The note to Mark Wylder was in these terms :

"DEAR WYLDER,-I had hoped to

see you before now at Brandon. Your unexplained absence longer continued, you must see, will impose on me the necessity of offering an explanation to Miss Brandon's friends, of the relations, under these untoward circumstances, in which you and she are to be assumed mutually to stand. You have accounted in no way for your absence. You have not even suggested a postponement of the day fixed for the completion of your engagement to that young lady; and, as her guardian, I cannot avoid telling her, should I fail to hear explicitly from you within three days from this date, that she is at liberty to hold herself acquitted of her engagement to you. I do not represent to you how much reason every one interested by relationship in that young lady has to feel offended at the disrespect with which you have treated her. Still hoping, however, that all may yet be explained,

I remain, my dear Wylder, yours very truly,

"CHELFORD."

Lord Chelford had not opened the subject to Dorcas. Neither had old Lady Chelford, although she harangued her son upon it as volubly and fiercely as if he had been Mark Wylder in person, whenever he and she were tête-a-tête. She was extremely provoked, too, at Dorcas's evident repose under this astounding treatment, and was enigmatically sarcastic upon her when they sat together in the drawing-room.

She and her son were, it seemed, not only to think and act, but to feel also, for this utterly immovable young lady! The Brandons, in her young days, were not wanting in spirit. No; they had many faults, but they were not sticks or stones. They were not to be taken up and laid down like mere wax dolls; they could act and speak. It would not have been safe to trample upon them; and they were not less beautiful for being something more than pictures and statues.

This evening, in the drawing-room, there were two very pretty ormolu caskets upon the little marble table. "A new present from Mark Wylder," thought Lady Chelford, as these objects met her keen glance "The unceremonious bridegroom has, I sup

VOL. LXII.-NO. CCCLXIX.

66

pose, found his way back with a peace-offering in his hand." And she actually peered through her spectacles into the now darkened corners of the chamber, half expecting to discover the truant Wylder awaiting there the lecture she was well prepared to give him; but the square form and black whiskers of the prodigal son were not discernible there. So, so, something new, and very elegant and pretty," said the old lady aloud, holding her head high, and looking as if she were disposed to be propitiated. "I think I can risk a conjecture. Mr. Wylder is about to reappear, and has despatched these heralds of his approach, no doubt, suitably freighted, to plead for his re-acceptance into favour. You have heard, then, from Mr. Wylder, my dear Dorcas ?"

"No, Lady Chelford," said the young lady, with a grave serenity, turning her head leisurely towards her.

"No? Oh, then, where is my son? he, perhaps, can explain; and pray, my dear, what are these?"

"These caskets contain the jewels which Mr. Wylder gave me about six weeks since. I had intended restoring them to him; but as his return is delayed, I mean to place them in Chelford's hands; because I have made up my mind, a week ago, to put an end to this odious engagement. It is all over."

Lady Chelford stared at the audacious young lady with a look of incensed amazement for some seconds, unable to speak.

"Upon my word, young lady! vastly fine and independent! You chasser Mr. Wylder without one moment's notice, and without deigning to consult me, or any other person capable of advising you. You are about to commit as gross and indelicate a breach of faith as I recollect anywhere to have heard of. What will be thought?-what will the world say?— what will your friends say? Will you be good enough to explain yourself? I'll not undertake your excuses, I promise you.'

"Excuses! I don't think of excuses, Lady Chelford; no person living has right to demand one."

a Very tragic, young lady, and quite charming!" sneered the dowager, angrily.

19

"Neither one nor the other, I venture to think; but quite true, Lady Chelford," answered Miss Brandon, haughtily.

"I don't believe you are serious, Dorcas," said Lady Chelford, more anxiously, and also more gently. "I can't suppose it. I'm an old woman, my dear, and I shan't trouble you very long. I can have no object in misleading you, and you have never experienced from me anything but kindness and affection. I think you might trust me a little, Dorcas-but that, of course, is for you, you are your own mistress now-but, at least, you may reconsider the question you propose deciding in so extraordinary a way. I allow you might do much better than Mark Wylder, but also worse. He has not a title, and his estate is not enough to carry the point à force d'argent; I grant all that. But together the estates are more than most titled men possess; and the real point is the fatal slip in your poor uncle's will, which makes it so highly important that you and Mark should be united; bear that in mind, dear Dorcas. I look for his return every day-every hour, indeed-and no doubt his absence will turn out to have been unavoidable; you must not act precipitately, and under the influence of mere pique. His absence, I lay my life, will be satisfactorily accounted for; he has set his heart upon this marriage, and I really think you will almost drive him mad if you act as you threaten." "You have, indeed, dear Lady Chelford, been always very kind to me, and I do trust you," replied this beautiful heiress, fixing her large, shadowy eyes upon the dowager, and speaking in slow and silvery accents, somehow very melancholy. "I dare say it is very imprudent, and I don't deny that Mr. Wylder may have reason to complain of me, and the world will not spare me either; but I have quite made up my mind, and nothing can ever change me; all is over between me and Mr. Wylder-quite over for ever."

"Upon my life, young lady, this is being very sharp, indeed. Mr. Wylder's business detains him a day or two longer than he expected, and he is punished by a final dismissal!"

The old lady's thin cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shot a reddish

light, and altogether she made an angry sight. It was hardly reasonable. She had been inveighing against Miss Brandon's apathy under Wylder's disrespect, and now that the young lady spoke, and acted too, she was incensed. She had railed upon Wylder, in no measured terms, herself, and even threatened, as the proper measure, that very step which Dorcas had announced; and now she became all at once the apologist of this insolent truant, and was ready to denounce her for her unreasonable irritation.

"So far, dear Lady Chelford, from provoking me to this decision, his absence is, I assure you, the sole reason of my having delayed to inform him of it."

"And I assure you, Miss Brandon, I shan't undertake to deliver your monstrous message. He will probably be here to-morrow. You have prepared an agreeable surprise for him. You shall have the pleasure of administering it yourself, Miss Brandon. For my part, I have done my duty, and here and now renounce all responsibility in the future management of your affairs."

Saying which, she rose, in a stately and incensed way, and looking with flashing eyes over Dorcas's head to a far corner of the apartment, without another word she rustled slowly and majestically from the drawing-room.

She was a good deal shocked, and her feelings quite changed, however, when next morning the post brought a letter to Chelford from Mark Wylder, bearing the Boulogne postmark. It said

"DEAR CHELFORD,-Don't get riled; but the fact is I don't see my way out of my present business"-(this last word was substituted for another, crossed out, which looked like "scrape")

"for a couple of months, may be. Therefore, you see, my liberty and wishes being at present interfered with, it would be very hard lines if poor Dorcas should be held to her bargain. Therefore, I will say thisshe is quite free for me. Only, of course, I don't decline to fulfil my part whenever at liberty. In the meantime, I return the miniature, with her hair in it, which I constantly wore about me since I got it. But I have no right to it any longer, till I know her decision. Don't be

AN OLD PAGEANT.

IT is a bright September morning, warm and calm. The sun, risen above the Alban mountains, glowing splendrously across the Campania, over the white structures and gardens of the seven hills, has already touched with fire the golden roofs of the Capitol. Far and wide the air rings with sound, with the voices of innumerable multitudes, dressed in holiday attire, hurrying in chariots, on horseback, and on foot, along the great roads from the provinces to the city, and through the city streets to the Campus Martius, where the roll of drums and blare of trumpets announce the assembling of the Dictator's Gallic Triumph. From many directions, from the Vatican Camp, across the river, and from the Prætorian, beyond the city walls, skirting the Quirinal, the legions, foot and cavalry, are marching, and forming in the great open space near the Triumphal Bridge, and between the garden-covered hills to the north-east, and the turbid, rolling Tiber, whose waters are alive with vessels, wreathed and decked with gay flags. In this wide area, on either side of the great Flaminian Way, which, raised high above the level, runs through the Field of Mars to the Gate of the People, many great structures are scattered, some of which, dating hundreds of years back, indicate the rudeness of the yet unpolished republic; while others, vaster and more splendid, either completed or in process of erection, manifest the power which the City of Victory had at

tained during ages of war and conquest. In one district may be seen the long, gray walls of some old stadium or palæstra, in which the soldiers of Scipio mastered the Roman exercise and discipline; in another, a theatre and arch of Flaminius, or a triumphal arch of Sylla, white and fresh, whose figured walls tell the story of the Mithridatic war; in another, the wooden amphitheatre of Pompey, in which the plebs have been lately delighted by the combats of five hundred lions and gladiators; in another, long lines of shady porticoes, bordered with trees, beneath whose vaulted marbles the gens togati enjoy the cool air of the Apennines, on burning summer days, after the bath; or exercise, sheltered from the rains and snows of the hiemnal months. The plain is skirted to the south by the old city walls, which, running from the Janiculan bridge-near which the pyramidal tomb of Scipio Africanus rises-away along the crests of the osier-yellowed Viminal and Quirinal hills, are lost behind the temple-crowned turrets of the steep Capitoline and Palatine. From the Triumphal Bridge the Flaminian Way leads along the river through the Flaminian Gate and Circus, round the Capitoline hill to the Forum-and such is the course which the procession will pursue.

What a scene of fierce tumult and excitement-what clouds of dustwhat a tempest of mingled soundswhat multitudes are arriving! Rome, Italy-nay, the world itself, from Britain to Africa, and the furthest East-is represented here. Thousands

of horsemen, thousands of chariots, thousands of litters, are hurrying along the great highways to the spectacle. Glance first at the army; two hundred thousand strong, chiefly infantry. There are the fierce Roman legions, which have subjugated West and East, before whom, within the last eleven years, during which the genius of death has paved the way to empire, two millions of men have been swept away. There they stand in serried lines, glittering in strong armour, mailed and shielded, decorated with their spoils, shouldering their laurel-wreathed spears-a sternly barbarous host, disdainful of death, hardened with massacre, insolent with victory. There, too, are the barbarian legions, lately added to those of Italy-masses of gigantic Gauls and Germans, yellow-haired, blueeyed, white-fleshed; the first wearing the plaid tunic under their armour, and iron neck-collar; the latter partially clothed with head-dresses of skins; all wearing on their hands the heavy iron ring-the symbol of bravery; all sitting their saddleless horses with a savage grace; all tumultuously conversing. There, too, are the black Numidian cavalry, mounted lightly on their reinless steeds, turbaned, in flowing robes. There, too, the richly attired legions of Pontus and Egypt; the one attired in particoloured garments, the other in the white linens of the Nile, from helmet to buskin.

Hark, to the tempest blast of trumpets-to the tornado of cheers rising from the legions, Roman and barbarian, which announce the arrival of the Dictator! Mark, too, the ominous silence of the sight-loving multitude. He is attired in the triumphal dress (the purple robe of Jupiter, taken from the god's statue in the capitol) and crimson sash; on his high-crowned head rests the heavy golden diadem; in one hand he carries the laurel branch, in the other the ivory sceptre, eagle-topped. The group who have accompanied him, and who surround him,are his generals -Balbus, Oppius, Martius, Pansa, Hirtius, and Dolabella; the red-haired herculean-headed figure in magnificent dress, at his side, is Anthony.

And now advancing, he mounts the golden car, carefully placing his right foot first on the step, to guard against fortune.* His face, bronzed by the suns and rains of Africa and Gaul, is equally expressive of the love of pleasure and power, and though covered with the stern wrinkles of thought and care, beams with gay, confident joy, as he glances round on the legions-his commilitones; his eye and motions are quick as lightning, and he issues his commands in a shrill, clear, head voice. Again the trumpets ring, and now the vast procession begins to move slowly cityward along the Triumphal Way, which is strewed with flowers, and along which numerous altars flame with incense. First in order go the lictors, wreathed with laurel, followed by companies of musicians, clarionet and horn blowers, and by throngs of dancers dressed like Satyrs; then the oxen, white from the Clitumnus pastures, decked for sacrifice; then a long train bearing the ivory images of the conquered towns, and the banner with the gilded inscription, "Veni, vidi, vici." Next a long line of carriages, some piled with the riches of Gaul, Africa, Egypt, and Asia-statues, pictures, bullion, and coin; others horrent with the rude or splendid arms of the conquered nations; a hundred elephants, next in order, march uncouthly forward; then, preceding the car of the conqueror, are seen a multitude of captives, with arms bound and heads depressed, headed by the vanquished Vercingetorix, crowned and chained. In the triumphal car, drawn by four white horses, stands the Dictator, with the slave behind him, who whispers in his ear, according to ancient usage, "Respice post te hominem memento.' Lastly,crowds, scattering perfumes, follow the victorious legions, who laurelcrowned and covered with their spoils, march with fierce and joyous recklessness, chanting songs in praise of the achievements of their general,at whom they even rail with the freedom of December, and ever and anon shouting, "Io Triumphale." The head of the procession, which is some three miles long, and which has moved past the great structures of