For she knew now that the highest boon life could offer her, the richest prize earth held for her, was Sir Ronald’s love. The _fête_ was brilliant. Never had Leeholme Park been so gay. Lord Lorriston spared neither expense nor trouble to do homage to this, his beloved child. With evening came the crowning glory of the entertainment--the charades and the tableaux. The little theatre was most charmingly decorated. The velvet hangings were drawn aside, and revealed a beautiful little corridor, lighted by pearly lamps that were half hidden among green trees; it led to the grounds, that were also illuminated, so as to resemble fairyland. “If any one finds the theatre warm, they can seek the refreshment of cool air and moonlight,” said Lord Lorriston, when he planned this little surprise. The tableaux were a wonderful success; no one will ever forget the bright, marvelous beauty of “Sunshine” or the starlike beauty of “Evening.” The historical picture was greatly admired, but the star of the evening was Anne Boleyn the night before her execution; a picture that half-maddened Sir Ronald by its wondrous loveliness and sorrow. There was to be dancing after the tableaux, and he went to Lady Hermione with an anxious look on his face. “Lord Lorriston says that it is the universal wish that the ladies who have taken such a brilliant part in the tableaux should appear in the several costumes they wore. Lady Hermione, you will not wear that black dress?” “I could not dance in it,” she said, with a smile. His face cleared. “I am so glad you will wear the queen’s dress. I am so grieved that I ever asked you to imitate that picture.” “Tell me why?” she asked. “I could not. I should have to unravel the whole science of metaphysics. It has given me a shock; I cannot tell why. To remove the unpleasant impression, you will promise me to be a brilliant queen.” “To forget that cruel Harry slew me?” she said. “Yes; I will forget it. See, you have frightened me with your fears. My hands have grown cold.” He seized them and almost crushed them in his passionate clasp. He bent over them and longed with passionate longing to cover them with kisses, but dared not. “You will soon make me superstitious,” she said; “I shall not feel myself again until I have my robes of state and diadem.” There was never a more brilliant spectacle at Leeholme than the ballroom that evening. There was queenly Cleopatra, with dusky brows; Antony, in mailed armor; Kenelm Eyrle, as Sir Launcelot; Sir Ronald, as King Harry; Clara Seville, as the Queen of Scots, and the magnificent blonde, Miss Monteith, as Queen Guinivere. The belles of the evening were Miss Severn, as Jane Seymour, and Lady Hermione, as Anne Boleyn. “If I had been King Harry,” said Captain Gordon, “I should not have known which of those two beautiful women I loved best; but I should never have slain one to marry the other.”