that had never touched bis life before. Through the draperies of the curtains he saw her, and saw ber—not alone. She sat at the head of her table, that glittered with wax-lights and fruits and wines, and with her were some six or seven men, whose voices only reached him in a low inarticulate murmur, but whose laughter now and then echoed on his ear in the silence. At the foot of the table sat one whom be recognised at once; his back was to the windows, but the slight grace of his figure, and the elegance of bis throat and head, with its closely-cut blond hair, sufficed to identify him to Erceldoune. What tie could be have to her, this cold, smiling, silken politician, who seemed perpetually by her side? In the warm night be shook as with icy chillness through all his veins; a brute longing seized him to spring like a lion into that dainty group, and fell them down as men of his blood in Bothwell's days bad felled their foes in Border feuds,
"when the loud corynoch rang for war
Through Lome, Argyle, Monteith, and Braidalbane."
Her other guests were all unknown to him, and looked like gentlemen-condottieri; moreover, all he saw was Idalia: she was leaning slightly forward,
