ntruding even into the
Castle, and telling all that will listen to her, that _she_ is
betrothed to the Marquis of Arondelle."

"Oh! Just as I feared!" muttered the banker, in a tone that instantly
riveted the attention of his daughter.

"_What_ did you fear, my father?" she inquired, fixing her eyes upon
his face.

The banker hesitated.

His daughter repeated her question:

"_What_ did you fear, my dear father?"

"Why, just what has happened, my love!" impatiently answered the banker.
"That this silly report would reach your ears and give you uneasiness. It
_has_ reached you; but do not, I beseech you, let it trouble you!"

"There is no truth in it of course, papa?" said Salome, in a tone of
entreaty.

"No, no, at least none that need concern you. Lord bless my soul, girl,
young men will be young men! Arondelle is now about twenty-five years of
age. And he was not brought up in a convent, as you were. He has lived
for a quarter of a century in the world! Surely, you do not expect that
a young man should live as long as that without ever admiring a pretty
face, and even telling its owner so, do you?"

"I never once thought about that, at all, papa," said Salome, in a
mournful tone.

"No, I'll warrant you didn't! Well, don't think anything more of it now.
And don't expect too much of human nature. In this year of grace there
are no saints left alive! Believe that, and accept it, my girl!"

CHAPTER VI.

A HORRIBLE MYSTERY ON THE WEDDING DAY.

On the day before the wedding all the preparations were completed.

The grounds around the castle, paradisial in their own natural beauty
under this heavenly blue sky of June, were adorned with all that art and
taste and wealth could bring to enhance their attractions in honor of the
occasion.

Triumphal arches of rare exotic flowers were erected at intervals along
the avenue leading from the castle courtyard down to the bridge that
spanned Loch Lone from the island, to the mountain hamlet on the main
land. The bridge itself was canopied with evergreens, and starred with
roses. Every house in the little hamlet of Lone was so wreathed and
festooned with flowers as to look like a fairy bower. The little gothic
church, said to be coeval in history with the castle itself, was
decorated within and without as for an Easter or Christmas festival. And
the only inn of the place, an antiquated but most comfortable public
house, known for centuries as the "Hereward Ar