was
concealed by her head-dress and veil. But that bend of the neck, so
simply graceful, so humbly modest, recalled to his heart but one image.
Every one has, perhaps, observed that there is a physiognomy (if the
bull may be pardoned) of _form_ as well as face, which it rarely happens
that two persons possess in common. And this, with most, is peculiarly
marked in the turn of the head, the outline of the shoulders, and the
ineffable something that characterises the postures of each individual
in repose. The more intently he gazed, the more firmly Ernest
was persuaded that he saw before him the long-lost, the
never-to-be-forgotten mistress of his boyish days, and his first love.
On one side of the lady in question sat an elderly gentleman, whose eyes
were fixed upon the preacher; on the other, a beautiful little girl,
with long fair ringlets, and that cast of features which, from its
exquisite delicacy and expressive mildness, painters and poets call
the "angelic." These persons appeared to belong to the same party.
Maltravers literally trembled, so great were his impatience and
agitation. Yet still, the dress of the supposed likeness of Alice, the
appearance of her companions, were so evidently above the ordinary rank,
that Ernest scarcely ventured to yield to the suggestions of his own
heart. Was it possible that the daughter of Luke Darvil, thrown upon
the wide world, could have risen so far beyond her circumstances and
station? At length the moment came when he might resolve his doubts--the
discourse was concluded--the extemporaneous prayer was at an end--the
congregation broke up, and Maltravers pushed his way, as well as he
could, through the dense and serried crowd. But every moment some
vexatious obstruction, in the shape of a fat gentleman or three
close-wedged ladies, intercepted his progress. He lost sight of the
party in question amidst the profusion of tall bonnets and waving
plumes. He arrived at last, breathless and pale as death (so great was
the struggle within him), at the door of the chapel. He arrived in time
to see a plain carriage with servants in grey undress liveries, driving
from the porch--and caught a glimpse, within the vehicle, of the golden
ringlets of a child. He darted forward, he threw himself almost before
the horses. The coachman drew in, and with an angry exclamation, very
much like an oath, whipped his horses aside and went off. But that
momentary pause sufficed.--"It is she--it is! O