Twelve months passed by, and their school increased, and with it their favor with the greater portion of their acquaintances. Dudley and Clara were to be married, and a great excitement existed in expectation of the gaieties of the scene. Never had such preparations been known, and consequently the approaching marriage was the theme of every tongue. The evening before the wedding, a large party of the young men of the village {783} and its vicinity, had assembled to celebrate some anniversary in which they were interested. After the business of the meeting was over, they agreed to drink to the happiness of Dudley and his Clara. One sally of mirth gave way to another, until Dudley and several others felt much exhilarated by their large potations. Dudley at length mentioned Williams—tauntingly alluded to his former attachment to Clara—attributed his rejection by her to his own influence—and wound up by asserting that it was not the only favor for which his friend had to thank him. Encouraged by the mirth his witticisms excited, he proceeded to state, in a strain of deep ridicule, that had not his superior discernment discovered the true character of Miss Clayton, and given the alarm, she would have now been the wife of Williams; and that, for the favor he had done him in getting him out of that dilemma, he should seek out the exile, and claim, by way of reward, a handsome legacy for his first. Among the number present was one who long had loved the innocent girl whose name was thus unceremoniously handled; a suspicion that Dudley was the cause of her ruin, darted through his mind, and he resolved to take him by guile. He accordingly asked if friendship for Williams had prompted him to the task of breaking off his chains. “No, indeed: I had a double motive. She, a proud wretch, had rejected me; and he, a villain, once had rivalled me; for a reason, good or bad, they loved each other, and I made them feel what they will not forget.” “And you can prove all that was said?” continued the other. Dudley was now alarmed, for there was something in young Maxwell’s look that showed he had said more than he intended to be understood. “Prove it!” said he, “assuredly I did it; and if necessary, can prove a great deal more than you have ever heard.” The party dispersed at a late hour, but Maxwell arose next morning unrefreshed. He fancied he had found the clew to the labyrinth, and resolved, unsuspected and secretly, to discover, if possible, the mystery which he now saw had been so long thrown over that transaction. Maxwell, too, was Williams' friend. He alone knew his present residence, and he resolved, if possible, to investigate the matter, and restore, if innocent, happiness and fame to her whom he now believed unjustly deprived of both. * * * * *