As the door opened, the eyes of the rivals met. Miss Cecilia's feelings were those of disappointment and surprise. "Then she has got a turban too! How could she have got it?"--and she was vexed that her triumph was not so complete as she had expected. But Miss Charlotte was in ecstasies. It may be supposed she was not slow to tell the story; it soon flew round the room, and the whole party were thrown into convulsions of laughter. Miss Cecilia alone was not in the secret; and as she was successful at cards, and therefore in good humor, she added to their mirth, by saying that she was glad to see everybody so merry, and by assuring Mrs. Hanaway, when she took her leave, that she had spent a delightful evening, and that her party was the gayest she had ever seen in B----. "I am really ashamed," said Mrs. Hanaway, "at allowing the poor woman to be the jest of my company; but I was afraid to tell her the cause of our laughter, from the apprehension of what might have followed her discovery of the truth." "And it must be admitted," said her husband, "that she well deserves the mortification that awaits her when she discovers the truth." Poor Miss Cecilia _did_ discover the truth, and never was herself again. She parted with her house, and went to live with a relation at Bristol; but her spirit was broken; and, after going through all the stages of a discontented old age, ill-temper, peevishness, and fatuity--she closed her existence, as usual with persons of her class, unloved and unlamented. SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR. BY THE AUTHOR OF LILLIAN. I. To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas; the clarion's note is high; To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas; the huge drum makes reply: Ere this hath Lucas marchéd with his gallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter on our ears; To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas; white Guy is at the door; And the vulture whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor. Up rose the lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer; And she brought a silken standard down the narrow turret-stair: Oh, many were the tears those radiant eyes had shed, As she worked the bright word "Glory" in the gay and glancing thread; And mournful was the smile that o'er those beauteous features ran, As she said: "It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van." "It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride; Through the steel-clad files of Skippon, and the black dragoons of Pride; The recreant soul of Fairfax will feel a sicklier qualm, And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm, When they see my lady's gew-gaw flaunt bravely on their wing, And hear her loyal soldier's shout, For God and for the king!" II.