At a late hour one evening the butler at Waverdale Hall appeared before his master with the information that a stranger wished to see him on business of the first importance. In vain the faithful servant had represented to him the lateness of the hour and the unusual nature of his request; in vain he asked even for the stranger’s name. To all objections and inquiries the stranger, standing by the door closely shrouded in a large muffler, had simply said, “I must see the squire. I have walked many a weary mile for that purpose, and I know that if he will grant me a few minutes’ interview, he will be deeply grateful that ever the interview took place.” There was a time, and that not many weeks since, when the stately squire would have peremptorily refused such an unseasonable application; but now, after the strange and mollifying experiences to which he had been subjected, he considered but a moment, and then said,-- “Show the man into the library, Thompson. I will go and see what his errand is.” The interview was long, and the worthy butler was devoured by curiosity to ascertain who the stranger was, and what he wanted. Eventually the squire re-appeared, and gave the housekeeper orders to prepare a room for the unknown new-comer, who in a little while silently and secretly retired to rest. Not one word did the squire say to the wondering lady or the puzzled butler as to the who, or what, or why of the untimely visitor; but they noticed that he walked with a firmer step, and a bearing more erect, and spoke in tones more quick and pleasant than they had heard from him for many a day. In a little while the inmates of Waverdale Hall were wrapped in slumber, with one exception; for Hannah Olliver, though she had retired to her little room over the laundry, re-trimmed her lamp, and sat, still dressed, watching and waiting for the midnight hour. Not without much trepidation, for she was conscious of wrong-doing, and would gladly have foregone the pleasure of meeting her effusive lover; but still her undoubted affection for Aubrey Bevan made her long for the promised interview, that she might bid him a warm and affectionate good-bye. The clock in the servants’ hall had no sooner struck the hour of twelve than the errant damsel stole softly down the servants’ staircase in the silence of that lonesome hour. It was dark, for no solitary beam of moon or star relieved the gloom of the cloudy sky, and for safety’s sake she dared not carry forth her lighted lamp. Groping slowly along, and so carefully that not a single creaking stair should imperil the secresy of her nocturnal walk, she stood at last beside the outer door of the servants’ kitchen, which opened into the stable yard and the kitchen garden which lay beyond. Slowly and silently she unbarred it; the massive bolts were each in turn noiselessly drawn back into their sockets. The key, which she had abstracted from the usual nail whereon the butler had suspended it,