“Oh let me see!—_that?_ why that’s the carriage of the old Duchess of Graveminster, the grand-aunt of Lady Morelle. She was expected at the hall yesterday; something must o’ stopped her,” said Joe, as a large, sombre, dark-colored traveling carriage lumbered heavily past. “What o’clock is it, Mr. Joe? you’re a weatherwise, and you can tell,” inquired a young girl leaving a group of maidens and joining the two men. “What o’clock, my dear?” replied the gamekeeper, looking up at the sun with an air of confidence. “Well, I should say it was just about a quarter to ten.” “Oh—dear me! and the weddingers won’t pass till nearly twelve! and here we are to wait two mortal hours! and I want to be away at the Maypole so much.” “Hush! my darling; look! here comes his lordship’s carriage, itself, just as sure as you’re the prettiest lass in the country,” whispered the gamekeeper, as a very plain but handsome traveling carriage of dark green, drawn by a pair of spirited grey horses, rolled on up the avenue toward the Hall. “_Whose_ Lordship’s? What are you thinking about, Mr. Joseph?” asked the little maiden, fretfully. “Why, _his_ Lordship’s! _The_ Lorship’s—the _only_ Lordship to be thought about now, my dear! Lord _Montressor’s_ Lordship!” “Now _that’s_ impossible, Mr. Joseph! If you _be_ gamekeeper, you sha’n’t make game of _me_, at that rate. Lord Montressor! Marry-come-up! What should _he_, of all men, be doing here at _this_, of all hours?” “Come up to marry, I suppose. Anyhow it is _he_.” “Nonsense! It can’t _be_, I tell you! It would be out of all manners! Don’t I know? He’s to bring all his groomsmen, and _his_ friends and relations to the _church_, and wait _there_ for Miss Morelle and her friends and relations! _That’s_ manners.” “I know it be!” “That shows it can’t be Lord Montressor who drove past just now.” “But I know _it be him_, also! Don’t I know his Lordship’s grey and crimson liveries? and his co’t arms—the lion _couchant_, and the lady _sittin on’t_? It’s _him_, now just as sure as you are just the sweetest creetur in the world; but what I be thinking of is—_what’s to pay?_ It looks like somethin’ was _on_regular!” “Onreglar? I believe you! Who ever heard of such a thing?—if it _be_ Lord Montressor.” It was Lord Montressor. Early that morning a note from his affianced bride had been put in his hands, summoning him to a private conference with her at the Hall before they should proceed to the church. Surprised and filled with vague uneasiness, his lordship lost no time in obeying the behest. And it was really his carriage and liveries that passed. Within the most secluded of her suite of richly-furnished apartments at the old Hall, half buried in the depths of a cushioned chair, reclined the bride expectant, in bridal array. On her right, a gorgeous cheval mirror reflected in profile her beautiful form.