“There was one other of the party, however, who treated the attentions of all with indifference. She moved hither and thither, preoccupied in thought, and at last sought the verandah, where her father, Lord Cavendish, was smoking with the colonel and other old people, discussing politics. “Taking a foot-stool she sat between the colonel and her father, resting her head on the farmer’s knee, looking at the cloudless sky. Josephine Cavendish was the great favorite of Clare and Lady Emma, but somewhat younger than either. “She was timid in strange company, and, except when seated at her harp, studying alone, was perfectly out of place. She was, in truth, a child-like contemplative, who blushed at the rustle of her own dress. “Hour passed hour, and so the party continued, and stragglers dropped in one by one, until, by eleven o’clock, the rooms were filled with dancers, card players, and persons promenading up and down the wide verandahs, vine walks, orchard shades, or the long stone passages of the house. “It seemed a family gathering. “Every one knew every one; no introductions were necessary; all were at home, and everything proceeded harmoniously and pleasantly. “The lights of the village had long flickered and died. “The college chimes tolled the hour of midnight; the broad landscape of field and forest lay bathed in moonlight, and one by one the visitors dispersed. “Some on horse, others on foot, and more in broughams and carriages—all had disappeared down the carriage drive into the forest path, and the receding sounds of their gaiety and ringing laughter fell faintly on the ear. “The household had long retired to rest. “All was still. “Clare alone was awake. “By her open chamber window the pale-faced girl sat, gazing abroad upon the silvery landscape, deep in thought. “Boughs of lofty chesnut-trees, swaying in the breeze, swept against the house. “Perfume from gardens and orchards filled the air. “Time passed slowly on; troubled with thoughts and misgivings that cankered her heart, she wept. “Rousing from melancholy lethargy, she rose, and in part disrobed, as she gazed in the mirror upon her pale and thoughtful face, half concealed by heavy masses of raven tresses, loose about her shoulders. In dishabille as she was, she sat beside her snow-white bed. “She rose, and, deep in thought, with dishevelled hair and flowing garments, clasped her hands and moved her lips, as she gazed on the dark and lofty towers of the distant college. “How long she sat communing thus alone, or the nature of her thoughts, none can know. “But as the moon was dipping beyond the trees, her door noiselessly opened, and closed again, and there flitted across the floor towards her a figure in white. It was Lady Bray.