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 Never had Edith looked more beautiful than when she paused on the threshold of the old gothic library, where the guests were assembled for dinner, to still a little fluttering at the heart before she entered the room where she expected to meet Arthur. She entered, a little flush on her cheek, and a little sparkle in her clear blue eyes. Her father came towards her, and drew her arm in his. He was almost as proud as fond of his lovely child. She gave one quick glance round the library. Arthur was not there. Captain Delaford came forward with a smile and a compliment. She scarcely answered him; and it was a positive relief when an old baronet, who had been sent into the world to be a bore, and who from his cradle had fulfilled his destiny, came forward, and handed her to the dinner table. There were one or two late arrivals;–they little knew how quickly the heart of the fair mistress of the house beat at their entrance. The longest dinner that Edith had ever known was at at length over;–-but a yet longer evening was to come. She went with a large party from their house to the ball, and she danced the first dance with Captain Delaford. Ah, the restraints of society! Her pulses beat feverishly; her eyes were filled with tears; she was anxious—restless; and yet she had to appear gay, polite, and occupied with the scene before her. How often during the course of that evening did she go through a course of manoeuvres to obtain a place near the door, and then, ashamed of her motive, leave it hastily, only to return again! Still Arthur never came.

The party returned to the hall; and it was as much as Edith could do to appear the attentive and well-bred mistress of the house. Generally speaking, the little supper at home, after the dance, had been so gay; to-night it was positively dull—all said they were tired. The visitors took up their candles, and as the door closed upon the last, Edith threw herself into her father's arms and burst into tears. Half in sobs, and half in words, her story was told, and Mr Trevanion was at first very angry with Arthur Ralegh's want of temper. But Edith could not bear to have him blamed, and she now made all sorts of excuses for the jealousy which in the morning seemed to her so unpardonable. It was a lovely night when, feverish and restless, she flung open the windows of her dressing-room. The moon was shining in a cloudless sky, and the sea in the distance was tremulous with light. But there was a weight on Edith's spirits which she could not shake off. The clouds were beginning to redden in the east before she went to bed, and the last