In the meantime, the two lovers had got matters in considerable advancement for their marriage, which was fixed to take place in the following month. The inhabitants of the Abbey were promised a grand entertainment in William Glenday's house; and the day was looked forward to by all and sundry as a kind of holiday. There was, indeed, something in the match of more than an ordinary character; for, as a pair of twigs which have fallen connected from a tree into a stream seldom find their way together to the ocean, it seldom happens that the loves of childhood can withstand the severing impulses of the conflicting and distracting interests of a selfish and calculating world. It was even whispered that one of the maids of honour of the queen intended to grace and dignify the union by being present at the ceremony. The preparations went on with spirit. The day approached, and everything seemed to conspire to add to the happiness of a union apparently under the influence of smiling and auspicious powers. On the evening of the day preceding that on which their marriage was to take place, one of those events occurred which arrest the attention of thousands. Peter Connal, when coming out of the house of William Glenday, was stabbed to the heart. A number of persons immediately collected on hearing his cries--the guard of the palace was roused, and search made in every direction for the perpetrator of so bloody and unaccountable an act. Amongst those who rushed out when the cry was heard, was Mary Glenday and John Connal. The latter was entirely occupied in getting his father's body carried home, in the hope of his being only wounded, and with a view to get medical aid. Mary and some neighbours remained upon the spot, searching about for any trace, by footsteps or otherwise, which might lead to the discovery of the murderer. When engaged in this search, her eye fell upon a small sword lying at a little distance from the spot where the crime was committed. Upon taking it up, she discovered, to her astonishment, that it was her father's sword, which she had not missed from the house. She instantly secreted it under her clothes, and looked about to see if she could discover her parent. He had not, however, been seen during the tumult; and, though many inquiries were made for him, no person could tell where he was. She now flew to the house, and, upon getting into the inner chamber, applied water to the instrument to wash off the blood, threw the washings into a place where they could not be seen, and, by means of ashes from the fire, scoured the instrument, so as to bring back its brightness. Having hung it up in the spot which it usually occupied, she turned to leave the room, with a view to go again to the street, to avoid any suspicion which her absence might suggest as to where she had been. As she turned, she started on observing the eyes of some person fixed on her through the window. She trembled from head to foot; and,