Edmund, who was thrown out by his absence from the breakfast table when the engagements for this dance were being formed, and who, consequently, was but a spectator, felt his arm touched from behind. He looked over his shoulder, and beheld the juggler, who, turning, made signs to him to follow; he did not, however, feel disposed to take the hint. The dumb fortune-teller pressed nearer, and said, in a low distinct whisper, “I am not what I seem: follow me, if you wish to know who you are!” These words aroused Edmund. He turned and immediately followed. “It must be some impertinent jest,” he said to himself, angry at his own credulity, “yet it is just possible that—that something, that some one connected with my strange history may—may have chosen——.” The dark figure meanwhile glided as rapidly through the dense crowd, as if there had been no obstacle to its free passage. It was with difficulty just kept in view by Edmund. CHAPTER XXVI. “Chief mixes his strokes with chief, and man with man; Steel, clanging, sounds on steel!” The mysterious stranger, our hero still following, descended the great stairs, crossed the inner and entrance-halls, and went out at the great door; then, hurrying past the flaring flambeaux of the servants in attendance on waiting carriages, made for a thick grove at a considerable distance. Arrived at the grove the figure proceeded some way among the thickest of the trees. Edmund followed, for a time, in silence; at length he demanded, rather angrily, whither the fellow meant to lead him. The stranger made no reply, but continued his rapid pace towards the most remote, and, by there appearing no lights in that direction, evidently the most unfrequented part of the grounds. “I will follow no further,” said Edmund, standing still, after a quick pursuit of some minutes. “If there is, indeed, any important communication which it is necessary should be made to me in private, we have been long since far enough removed from all possibility of being overheard.” The juggler stopped, and faced about. “Young man,” he said, “you may well believe that my business here this evening was not to play the idle mummery you have witnessed. Follow me, therefore!” “If your business regards me, name it now, and here!” said Edmund. The stranger fixed his eyes on those of our hero, while, beneath his cloak, he grasped something which Edmund almost held out his hand to receive, so sure did he feel for the moment that it must be a packet of papers containing the information he so much desired to obtain. The stranger’s hand appeared to hesitate. The fellow spoke again, perhaps to gain time. “The daughter of Lord L⸺,” he said slowly, his eyes still fixed on Edmund, “must never be the wife of ⸺,” he paused, drew a step nearer, then recommenced, “hereafter you shall know, of whom; at this crisis there might be danger in the discovery.”