But it was observed by the nearest friends of the bride, that from the day of her betrothal, her spirits had been marked by the strangest fluctuations. Sometimes with her beautiful dark face illumined with a deep, still, almost religious joy, she moved about as it were, on “winged feet,” or sat brooding in a happy trance. At other times, she fell into deep gloom and anxiety, as inexplicable as it was alarming to her friends, who greatly feared her relapse into the deep melancholy that had so long overshadowed her, and that they had grown to dread as a serious constitutional malady. But they hoped every thing from her approaching marriage with the man she loved. Lord Montressor observed with the deepest interest the uncertain moods of his betrothed; but with the high-toned sentiments that distinguished him, refrained from inquiring, and awaited her voluntary revelations. At last the first of May, the marriage day, upon which I have presented the parties to the reader, arrived, and all the _haut ton_, as I said, were gathered at the Hall or at the church to do honor to the solemnities. And the expectant bride, in her bridal robe and vail waited within her boudoir, the arrival of the bridegroom, whom she had summoned to a private interview before they should proceed to the church. She had not long to wait. He who quickly responded to her slightest intimation, immediately obeyed her call. Yet when she heard his firm elastic step approaching, “Now God have mercy on me!” she prayed, and covered her face with her hands. He entered, unannounced, and saying, “My beautiful Stella! I am here, you perceive, by your commands!” She dropped her hands, and revealing a face pale with misery, spoke in a thrilling, deep, impassioned tone— “You are here by my _supplication_, my lord! I have no right to command.” “We will waive that! what is your will, my dearest Stella?” “My _prayer_, my lord—is first, for your forgiveness.” “_Forgiveness?_—my Stella!” “Aye! my dear lord! you see before you a penitent and a supplicant, who may soon be something far more wretched!” “My Stella! what mean you?” “Come to the window, Lord Montressor!” she said, rising and preceding him. “Look out,” she continued, putting aside the rose-colored hangings, and revealing a view of the park below, alive with its restless multitude. “What are all these people waiting for, my lord?” “What are they waiting for, my Stella?—for that, for which I also wait, with how much more impatience!” he answered, while a deep flush of love and joy, for an instant, supplanted the anxiety on his face. “They wait to see a bride pass, where a bride may never go!” she said in a solemn voice. “Stella! great Heaven! what say you!” he exclaimed, gazing on her with profound astonishment. “That the bride they expect is unworthy to stand before God’s holy altar beside Lord Montressor!” “Unworthy, Stella! You!”