, 1863-04-23

close 1t seemed, that every one started In terror.
Not guest was present 10 whom that voice was
not familiar. Il was Frank Sinclair's; he who
lay buried In the depths Of the sea. et
The Misses Popplewood tainted. The strong
minded women threw their arms round Mark
Silvertree, imploring his protection; while Mr..
Bounce fairly took 70 bis heels, fed to his own
room, and locked himself in. Lights were extin-
guished, chairs and tables overturned, and the
whole scene changed into one Of confusion.
Nor was IL much better when, after . time, the
guests came trembling back, . pale and terrified
group, to gather round the fire. There were sup.
pressed voices, furtive glances into corners, and
shudderings whenever the eye rested on that
dark, ominous table in the background. There
were wOnderings and surrnisings, and dread Of
bedtime and solitary chambers. 3 5sE lt
But bedtime came, and there were whisper
ings In the long passages, and hurried disrob-
ing, and burning Of wax tapeFs rs long as they
would last, and burying Of faces in the pillows,
and beating Of fearful hearts, for the voice
was Franks, and Franks vessel bad gone down
at sea, and all on board perishedi aai ae-H
There was snug little chamber at The end Of
one Of the long passages, with the freight fash
ing on set Of Jewels that lay on the dressing
table, and showing robe son as gcssamer, with
flowers bu iding round the skirt, and awreath Of
satin shoes, set ready for the little feet to be
It must be Lucy's chamber, and we hear even
now her light tread Up the staircase, and along
the passage. Here she comes, pale and agitited,
but oil the lovelier for Il. She sits down, and
cries bitterly. That Is very natural, considering
bow her dead lover has been brought to her re-
membrGnce. Mark SilVertree might have done
some better deed than that the night before the
wedding II was trick, there Is no question,
for Mark has wit and mischief enough for any.
thing; yet Lucy must be very tickle I'VE told
you 50 from the beginning. Bee, she dries her
hef fuery. She puts on her Jewels, and her robe
Of gossamef, and the vei and the bridal wreath,
and stands ookiI z at herself in the mirror then
she smiles, and rosy blush suffuses her cheek.
She is evidently satisfied with her appearance
and with her future destiny. And as for Frank,
poor fellowi his memory belongs to by-gOne
part Of her history; in fact, the less she thinks
Of him the better.
And yet, when she has composed hefsslfto
rest her fair hair lying disoFdered on the pillow,
ard her cheek resting on her band, we, hear .
whisper, low and murmuFingB and yet spoken %
from the fulness Of her heart. II is only the
whisper Of name, and then she falls asleep, Is
seFenely Is an infant We are not bound TO 70.
veal the secret, but We heard the name distinctly,
and R was notthatof Archibald Sinclair: Ihere
Is no end to WOmAn's caprice and vAcillatiOn.n
Some little distance from this chamber, with
its robe Of gossamef, and its wreath of orange
flowers is another and very different apartment,
with sombre hangines and massive furniture.
An old fashioned mirror stands upon the table,
and into Il Is peering haggard, withered face,
full Of doubt and fear, and disquiet y is Mr..
Archibald Sinclair, who has gone to rest amid,
No one had heard him utter an exclamation Of
fear, or express any opinion Of the mysterious
voice, save that twas trick cleyerly performed,
and originating in the fertile brain Of Mark Sill.
vertree. He had rallied his discomiorted guests
and brought them back from their hidingplaces.