The scene was one which could not be looked upon without interest. There the good-natured Mrs. Mowbray might be seen, moving about among her humble guests, with a kind word for each. She was flushed and agitated, breathless and tearful; but she had given her daughter to a son-in-law whom she thought perfection, and she was as happy as a mother can be who has for the first time parted from her child. The simple congratulations of the poor people over-came, while they pleased, her. The tears started into her eyes when she heard the hearty "God bless Miss Alice!"--"May the captain make her a good husband!"--"May Miss Alice be as happy as she deserves to be!" which greeted her on all sides. Half ashamed of her own emotion, she turned away to a demure and staid matron, who sat somewhat apart, watching the young ones as they footed it merrily on the grass to the music of the village band: "Well, Dame Dixon, I hope you have enjoyed yourself, and that you have had everything you wished for?" "Everything was beautiful, I am sure, madam," replied Mrs. Dixon, rising respectfully from her seat: "his honour has treated us with the best of everything." "Is your daughter among the dancers?" inquired Mrs. Mowbray, as she saw Mrs. Dixon's eye glance frequently towards the country-dance. "Yes, madam; Jane is very partial to dancing--almost too partial," she continued, as a bouncing couple came flying by beyond the double hedge of dancers. "Jane," said the mother, as she clutched the maiden's red elbow, "don't you see that madam is here? Where's your manners, girl?" Jane stopped short, dropped a sort of court'sy, and composed her laughing countenance, while the partner disappeared among the crowd, with the sheepish bashfulness which characterises an English clown, especially in his youth. "I am afraid we have stopped their dancing," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Pray do not mind me, Jane. I hope I have not frightened away your partner;" and the kind hostess glided on. "What is become of Will Smith?" asked Dame Dixon. "I don't know," replied Jane; "and what's more, I don't care. I'm very tired," she continued, as she let herself drop on the bench by her mother's side; while her countenance relaxed into as decided an expression of sadness, as it had previously worn that of uncontrolled merriment. "Then I am sure, Jane, I wish you would not make so free with him, nor with half-a-dozen other young men. You have too much to say to them by half." "It won't do to sit and mope," cried Jane, starting up, as George Wells and Susan Foster were slowly advancing to join the dancers, with a lingering step, as though they were loth to have their conversation broken in upon. Jane was off like a startled deer; and in a few moments Dame Dixon saw her dancing away with more spirit than ever, having already provided herself with another partner.