r fan and pointed to the carving on the wall.

Was the black knot on? He gasped for breath as he anxiously looked to
see. It surely was not there. At all events he could not see it, but
then his eyes might be deceiving him, for she was at the further end
of the room. Ah! would she only drop the fan which was held up in her
trembling hand, and then--

With a clatter the fan dropped upon the pavement. Sir Edward gallantly
stooped down and returned it to its fair owner, but Manners waited to
see no more. She was his; the signal had been given, and picking
up his instrument he set to and contributed as good a share to the
gladsome melody as any of his fellows.

CHAPTER XXXII.

PLAIN JOHN MANNERS WINS HIS BRIDE.

One touch of her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door the charger stood near:
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur,
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

SCOTT.

Fast waxed the fun at Haddon, and loud above the strains of music rose
the sounds of merriment in the grand old Hall.

It was the bridal night. Margaret Vernon had redeemed her
troth-plight, given to Sir Thomas Stanley early in the summer, and in
the former part of the day she had been joined in holy wedlock with
her lover by Father Nicholas Bury, with more of the Roman Catholic
ritual than Queen Elizabeth's ministers would have approved of had
they known it.

Never had Haddon been so full of visitors before. Never had it been so
gay. None who came had been turned away. The baron kept an open house,
and whilst the rooms of the Hall were strained to the uttermost to
find accommodation for the numerous guests, the gate had been thronged
throughout the livelong day by an eager crowd of expectant beggars,
none of whom had gone away with empty hands.

But now the night was closing in, and the visitors were determined to
make the most of it. Sir George was almost ubiquitous. Here, there,
wherever the mirth was loudest, there the form of the jovial baron was
sure to be found. Old knights and equally elderly dames congregated
together in the capacious oriel windows, and, with the tapestry
curtains drawn aside, talked of the good old times of "Bluff King
Hal," and pointed out with pride of superiority of their own happy
age to these degenerate days. Middle-aged matrons sat