There stood India receiving the homage of her circle—her superb form arrayed in the rich and gorgeous costume that was so well adapted to her majestic and luxurious style of beauty. Her cheeks were mantled with a rich, high colour, yet this seemed not the carnation bloom of youth and health, but the fire of a feverish excitement. Her eyes were dark and brilliant, yet not with the light of innocent love and joy, but with the blaze of a burning and consuming heart. “Come,” whispered the old gentleman; “it is no use to stand here waiting our opportunity; for we might stand all night, and those fools wouldn’t give way. Poor wretches!—just like boys peeping at a gentleman’s conservatory, where they know they dare not touch even a rose-bud. Come, we must elbow through that circle of dandies; gently, you know—gently.” And suiting the action to the words, Colonel Ashley adroitly insinuated himself through the outer crowd and through the nearer circle, and into the very presence of the bride. She was not looking towards the new-comers. She was listening to a gentleman, who, having apparently exhausted all other subjects of adulation, was now expatiating upon the rare and exquisite beauty of the bouquet she held in her hand. Colonel Ashley and Mr. Sutherland were before her. “Mrs. Ashley”—— She looked round. “Will you permit me to present to you my young friend, Mr. Sutherland—a distant relative of your own, may I hope?” Mark Sutherland looked up, caught her eye, and bowed deeply. But before he had had time to do so, before even the deliberate ceremonious presentation speech of the old gentleman was half over—at the very instant she had turned around, and her eye had fallen upon Mark Sutherland—a change, an appalling change, had come over her lovely face and form, like that which might be supposed to sweep over the face of some beautiful and fertile oasis at the sudden blast of the simoom, that buries all its luxurious beauty in the burning and arid sands of the desert. As by the sudden smite of death, all colour was dashed out from her cheek, and all light from her eye. For a moment she stood and gazed, transfixed, unable to withdraw her stony eyes from his; then, with a sudden cry, as if some tightly-strained heartstring had snapped—the tension of her form relaxed, and she fell to the floor! In an instant all was confusion. Raised in the arms of her father, Clement Sutherland—who, until that moment, had remained obscure in the background—the swooning bride was borne into the adjoining room, and laid upon the sofa, while restoratives were anxiously sought for, to be administered.