d, disposed to be pleased with everything,
and everybody, the grave complaint of Sir Dugald furnished additional
amusement. He requested his acceptance of a very handsome buff-dress
which was lying on the floor. "I had intended it," he said, "for my own
bridal-garment, as being the least formidable of my warlike equipments,
and I have here no peaceful dress."

Sir Dugald made the necessary apologies--would not by any means
deprive--and so forth, until it happily occurred to him that it was much
more according to military rule that the Earl should be married in his
back and breast pieces, which dress he had seen the bridegroom wear at
the union of Prince Leo of Wittlesbach with the youngest daughter of old
George Frederick, of Saxony, under the auspices of the gallant Gustavus
Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and so forth. The good-natured young
Earl laughed, and acquiesced; and thus having secured at least one merry
face at his bridal, he put on a light and ornamented cuirass, concealed
partly by a velvet coat, and partly by a broad blue silk scarf, which
he wore over his shoulder, agreeably to his rank, and the fashion of the
times.

Everything was now arranged; and it had been settled that, according
to the custom of the country, the bride and bridegroom should not again
meet until they were before the altar. The hour had already struck that
summoned the bridegroom thither, and he only waited in a small anteroom
adjacent to the chapel, for the Marquis, who condescended to act as
bride's-man upon the occasion. Business relating to the army having
suddenly required the Marquis's instant attention, Menteith waited his
return, it may be supposed, in some impatience; and when he heard
the door of the apartment open, he said, laughing, "You are late upon
parade."

"You will find I am too early," said Allan M'Aulay, who burst into the
apartment. "Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like
a dog!"

"You are mad, Allan!" answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden
appearance, and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks
were livid--his eyes started from their sockets--his lips were covered
with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac.

"You lie, traitor!" was his frantic reply--"you lie in that, as you lie
in all you have said to me. Your life is a lie!"

"Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad," said Menteith,
indignantly, "your own life were a brief one. In what do