Sir William Howe and his guests stood at the doors of the contiguous
apartments watching the progress of this singular pageant with various
emotions of anger, contempt or half-acknowledged fear, but still with
an anxious curiosity. The shapes which now seemed hastening to join
the mysterious procession were recognized rather by striking
peculiarities of dress or broad characteristics of manner than by any
perceptible resemblance of features to their prototypes. Their faces,
indeed, were invariably kept in deep shadow, but Dr. Byles and other
gentlemen who had long been familiar with the successive rulers of the
province were heard to whisper the names of Shirley, of Pownall, of
Sir Francis Bernard and of the well-remembered Hutchinson, thereby
confessing that the actors, whoever they might be, in this spectral
march of governors had succeeded in putting on some distant
portraiture of the real personages. As they vanished from the door,
still did these shadows toss their arms into the gloom of night with a
dread expression of woe. Following the mimic representative of
Hutchinson came a military figure holding before his face the cocked
hat which he had taken from his powdered head, but his epaulettes and
other insignia of rank were those of a general officer, and something
in his mien reminded the beholders of one who had recently been master
of the province-house and chief of all the land.

"The shape of Gage, as true as in a looking-glass!" exclaimed Lord
Percy, turning pale.

"No, surely," cried Miss Joliffe, laughing hysterically; "it could not
be Gage, or Sir William would have greeted his old comrade in arms.
Perhaps he will not suffer the next to pass unchallenged."

"Of that be assured, young lady," answered Sir William Howe, fixing
his eyes with a very marked expression upon the immovable visage of
her grandfather. "I have long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of
a host to these departing guests; the next that takes his leave shall
receive due courtesy."

A wild and dreary burst of music came through the open door. It seemed
as it the procession, which had been gradually filling up its ranks,
were now about to move, and that this loud peal of the wailing
trumpets and roll of the muffled drums were a call to some loiterer to
make haste. Many eyes, by an irresistible impulse, were turned upon
Sir William Howe, as if it were he whom the dreary music summoned to
the funeral of departed power.

"See! here