imation.

One timid glance Marie had hazarded towards her husband, and it was
met by such a look and smile of love and pride that she was re-assured
to perform the duties of the evening unfalteringly to the end. Alas!
she little knew that her momentary emotion and that of Arthur had
alike been seen, commented upon, and welcomed with fiend-like glee,
as the connecting link of an until then impalpable plot, by one
individual in that courtly crowd, whose presence, hateful as it was,
she had forgotten in the new and happier thoughts which Isabella's
presence and notice had occasioned.

And who was there, the mere spectator of this glittering pageant,
but would have pronounced that there, at least, all was joy, and
good-will, and trust, and love? Who, even did they acknowledge the
theory that one human heart, unveiled, would disperse this vain dream
of seeming unalloyed enjoyment, would yet have selected the right
individual for the proof, or would not have shrunk back awed and
saddened had the truth been told? Surely it is well for the young,
the hopeful, and the joyous, that in such scenes they see but life's
surface--not its depths.

The festive scene lasted some time longer, nor did it conclude with
the departure of the King and Queen: many still lingered, wandering at
their own will about the rooms and gardens, and dispersing gradually,
as was then the custom, without any set farewell.

Her attendance no longer required by the Queen, and aware that her
presence was not needed by her guests, Marie sought the gardens; her
fevered spirit and aching head yearning to exchange the dazzling
lights and close rooms for the darkness and refreshing breeze of
night. Almost unconsciously she had reached some distance from the
house, and now stood beside a beautiful statue of a-water-nymph,
overlooking a deep still pool, so clear and limpid, that when the moon
cast her light upon it, it shone like a sheet of silver, reflecting
every surrounding object. There were many paths that led to it,
concealed one from the other by gigantic trees and overhanging shrubs.
It was a favorite spot with. Marie, and she now stood leaning against
the statue, quite unconscious that tears were falling faster and
faster from her eyes, and mingling with the waters at her feet.

"Marie!" exclaimed the voice of Stanley at that moment: "Canst thou be
Marie? so false, so--" but his words were checked, for the terror, the
tumult of feeling, while it impel