“They have achieved a flank movement upon you, Lady Linton; when they saw the house ablaze, they suspected a reception, and as a bride would naturally be somewhat sensitive about appearing before company in travel-stained garments, Sir William and Lady Heath drove to the side-entrance, and doubtless are now in their own rooms. I am commissioned to make their excuses, and to beg that you will send word when dinner will be served.” Lady Linton at once dispatched a servant to tell his master that dinner had been ordered at nine o’clock, but it could be delayed if he desired. Sir William returned answer not to make any change, that he and Lady Heath would be ready to meet their friends by half-past eight. The time would have passed heavily after that, had it not been for Rupert, who was a general favorite, and soon had the whole company in the best possible humor with themselves and everybody else, and Lady Linton blessed him in her heart for his genial mirth, his exhaustless fund of anecdote and repartee. She was very restless, however, and anxiously watched the clock upon the mantle, while it seemed as if half-past eight would never arrive. All at once she saw Rupert dart from the side of Lillian, with whom he had been talking, toward the lower door of the drawing-room, and disappear in the hall. Then there came a murmur of surprise from the opposite direction, and glancing toward the upper door, she saw Sir William standing there, smiling and looking the personification of joy, with a beautiful woman leaning upon his arm. Lady Linton started eagerly forward to greet them, when, all at once, her heart bounded into her throat with suffocating force, a blur came before her eyes, her limbs trembled and almost sank beneath her. What delusion was this—what trick of her fancy? Was it a horrible nightmare, or had some sorceress suddenly bewitched her sight. She covered her eyes with her hand for a moment, and then looked again. No, it was no delusion—it was no trick; for just before her, looking like a queen in her rich robes, her face radiant with happiness as she leaned proudly upon her husband’s arm, she saw the woman who she had hated and wronged for long, long years; whom she had plotted to ruin and sweep from her path forever—Virginia Alexander! the chosen bride of her brother in his youth, and now, in spite of falsehood, calumny, treachery and even divorce, his happy wife, and the mistress of Heathdale! She was clad in a reception robe of pale lavender velvet, simply piped with satin; it faultlessly fitted her perfect form, while its ample train, sweeping out behind her, made her stately figure seem more regal than usual. Diamonds of purest water sparkled in her ears, gleamed upon her bosom, and an exquisite crescent was fastened among the glossy coils of her still rich and abundant hair.