In five more minutes Estelle Morelle was handed into a close carriage, the three other seats of which were occupied by her father, mother, and first bridesmaid. This carriage was preceded by that of the Duchess of Graveminster, and that of Lord Dazzleright, and was followed by a barouche containing the four other bridesmaids, and by various coaches of the friends, relatives and acquaintances, of the bride’s family, who had been invited to attend her to the church. As the procession defiled down the grand avenue, the village men and maidens gathered on either side to see it pass, and children threw flowers in the road. The bell rung a joyous peal, that continued until the cortege reached the church, which was a small gothic building just beyond the Park gates. The yard was filled with carriages of almost every description, and among them was recognized the crimson and grey liveries of Lord Montressor. As the cortege entered the church-yard, Lord Montressor alighted, and stood waiting until the carriage of Sir Parke Morelle, drew up before the church door, when he went and received his bride as she descended, and bowing with reverential tenderness, drew her arm within his own, and preceded by the Duchess of Graveminster on the arm of Sir Parke Morelle, and then by Lady Morelle on that of Lord Dazzleright, and followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen in pairs, entered the church. The pews and the side aisles were crowded to suffocation; and the beadle had enough to do to keep the centre aisle sufficiently clear to admit the passage of the bridal procession. Amid all this assembly, one group, gathered into a remote and deeply shaded pew in the corner to the extreme left of the entrance, in their manifest desire to avoid observation, might, at any other time, have attracted notice. But now all eyes were fixed upon the entree of the procession. This group consisted of a middle-aged, dark-complexioned, mercurial little woman of foreign aspect, clothed in black; a young man, with a tall and well-proportioned figure, regular features, deeply-bronzed complexion and jet black hair and eyes, of somewhat sinister expression; an elderly, dignified, magisterial-looking gentleman, and lastly—of a policeman who seemed to be retained in the service of the party. As the bridal train entered the church, the little swarthy woman quickly averted her head and let down her thick black vail, and the young man stooped out of sight, as if to pick up something from the floor. The magisterial-looking individual put on his spectacles, and regarded the train with an ambiguous half-smile; while the police-officer looked on with unconcealed curiosity. When they had passed the pew, the little restless foreign woman plucked at the sleeve of the young man and pointing to the procession now approaching the altar, exclaimed quickly, under her breath,— “Look you, Victoire! Can you bear this, then?” “No matter, Madame! I wait!” said the Frenchman with a wicked smile.