The bustle attendant on changing partners, reminded him that Julia was engaged to him for the next set; he put in his claim, and was soon recalled to a sense of pleasure, for Julia was leaning on his arm. A shudder followed, however, as he thought of the mysterious words of the ruffian stranger. Again and again he told himself that they had been uttered but to throw him off his guard. While the villain spoke, had not his eye been ever watchful? had not his hand grasped the drawn sword beneath his cloak? evidently awaiting a moment of excited feeling, to strike the blow the more securely. But this solution of the affair, rational and just as it was, did not suffice to set his mind at rest. Might he not be connected with Julia’s family in some way as disgraceful to himself as fatal to his mad attachment? Might not some secret agent have been in consequence employed to put an end to his miserable existence, lest he should entail disgrace and crime on all connected with him? There were then beings connected with him! Who were those beings? and where were they? A thought of horror next crossed his mind: could it have been a parent who had employed the murderer’s hand, to blot out shame with blood? and his heart shrunk from a surmise too dreadful to be dwelt upon. It had been previously arranged that the dance now about to commence was to take place in another apartment. The couples accordingly set out; Julia and Edmund led their own party, while before, behind, and on either side, moved a consolidated crowd in the same direction; so that retreat from the relative position once taken up was quite out of the question. Our hero and heroine were, consequently, obliged to keep, for a considerable time, a very painful situation in the immediate rear of a talkative party, who, without once looking behind them, proceeded with the following dialogue. “We seem to abound in naval characters to-night,” observed a gentleman. “You know it is quite a naval affair,” said a naval officer. “True; commemoration of the battle of ⸺.” “The day is worth remembering, sir!” “Is Lord Fitz-Ullin here to-night?” “No, but Captain Montgomery is, I understand.” “Which is Captain Montgomery?” cried a lady. “Which is Captain Montgomery?” said a second lady. “Who is Captain Montgomery?” with emphasis on the word _who_, said a third lady, who was, by her own size and weight, making way for two slim little girls, her daughters, who, by the pressure of the crowd, were squeezed into the fat sides of their mother, like the off-shoots of a bulbous root. “That is a question not so easily answered,” replied an equally fat gentleman. “Is he any relation of Lord Fitz-Ullin’s?” enquired some one. “None whatever,” replied an elderly naval officer, dryly.