The two old comrades of the Napoleonic wars talked on and on, while Ande wandered from them, earnestly scanning the features of those he met, but none did he recognise. The violins, sweeping into the melody of the Floraday, announced that the dance was on, but he did not engage in it. He gazed here and there, vainly endeavouring to behold a face he loved. He was becoming wearied with his search, when, across the hall, he noticed an aged, veiled lady and near her another, much younger. It was the young lady that held him spellbound for a moment. His eyes were riveted upon her countenance that was in profile. There was a shooting thrill through his whole system and his blood seemed to be mounting in great billows to his head. He caught a fuller glimpse of her features, and then his heart gave one mad leap and apparently stood still for a moment. Could he ever forget that countenance, pale and yet beautiful as on the eve, in the long ago, when she had called him her knight. With a half cry he was up and pushing through the crowd, but, before he reached the other side, he saw them both pass out of the crowded ballroom. With a few, rapid steps and bounds he passed down the stairway, almost knocking over the porter at the door. In the street without he missed the familiar figure, then his heart beat joyfully once more, for he caught a glimpse of her entering the Bowling Green. The aged, veiled lady was not with her. He hastened down the crowded street and entered the comparatively deserted Bowling Green. He swept a rapid glance around, but she had disappeared and his heart sank once more. Then he saw a flutter of lace amidst the leaves of a retired garden seat. She was standing when he reached her, but perhaps the record of his diary is better descriptive of the scene that followed. DIARY OF ANDREW TREMBATH, _Gent_. _May_ 8th, 1829; _Afternoon_. I saw my lady in the garden seat arbour, my lady Alice, the love of my childhood, the ideal of my waking hours, the vision of my wanderings, and the dream of my slumbers. She whose features were engraven on my heart by the memory of other years, and around whom clustered the fondest recollections of youth, was standing gazing at the setting sun that, as it sank in golden and roseate hues, painting the sea and sky with the glories of heaven, seemed likewise to retouch, with its refulgent beams, her curling raven locks and beauteous eyes with additional splendour. There was a faint flush on her cheeks in the midst of their pallor, like an early wild-rose nestling by a belated snowdrift. It seemed to me that she was much taller than formerly. So tall and majestic indeed was she that I was awed, notwithstanding my love that had been slumbering for years. I heard her murmur, meditatively: "Ah, if he would only come,--my life, my hope!"