The Master of Greylands. Mrs. Henry Wood

       CHAPTER V.

      THE BALL.

      Lights gleamed from the rooms of the banker's house in Stilborough. A flood of light blazed from the hall, and was reflected on the pavement outside, and on the colours of the flowering plants just within the entrance. Mr. Peter Castlemaine and Miss Castlemaine gave a dance that night; and it was the custom to open the door early, and keep it open, for the arrival of the expected guests.

      The reception-rooms were in readiness, and gay with their wax lights and flowers. They opened mostly into one another. The largest of them was appropriated to dancing. All its furniture and its carpet had been removed; benches occupied the walls under the innumerable sconces bearing lights; and the floor was chalked artistically, in a handsome pattern of flowers, after the fashion of the day.

      In the small apartment that was her own sitting-room stood Mary Ursula. In her rich robes of white silk and lace, and in the jewels which had been her mother's, and which it was her father's wish she should wear on grand occasions, she looked, with her stately form and her most lovely face, of almost regal beauty. Excitement had flushed her cheeks to brightness; on her delicate and perfect features sat an animation not often seen there. Whatever evil might be overhanging the house, at least no prevision of it rested on Miss Castlemaine; and perhaps few young ladies in all the kingdom could be found who were possessed of the requisites for happiness in a degree that could vie with the banker's daughter, or who had so entire a sense of it. Beautiful, amiable, clever, rich; the darling of her father; sheltered from every care in her sumptuous home; loving and beloved by a young man worthy of her, and to whom she was soon to be united! In the days to come, Mary Ursula would look back on this time, and tell herself that the very intensity of its happiness might have warned her that it was too bright to last.

      He, her lover, was by her side now. He had come early, on purpose to be for a few minutes alone with her, before the arrival of the other guests. They stood together on the hearthrug. A quiet-looking young man of middle height, with dark hair, just the shade of hers, and rather a pensive and mild cast of face: a face, however, that did not seem to proclaim much moral strength. Such was William Blake-Gordon.

      They were conversing of the future; the future that to both of them looked so bright; of the home and home life that ere long would be theirs in common. Mr. Blake-Gordon had been for some little time searching for a house, and had not met with a suitable one. But he thought he had found it now.

      "It seems to me to be just the thing, Mary," he was saying--for he never called her by her double name, but "Mary" simply. "Only four miles from Stilborough on the Loughton road; which will be within an easy distance of your father's home and of Sir Richard's. It was by the merest chance I heard this morning that the Wests were going; and we can secure it at once if we will, before it goes into the market."

      Miss Castlemaine knew the house by sight; she had passed it many a time in her drives, and seen it nestling away amid the trees. It was called by rather a fanciful name--Raven's Priory.

      "It is not to be let, you say, William; only bought."

      "Only bought. There will be, I presume, no difficulty made to that by the authorities."

      He spoke with a smile. She smiled too. Difficulty!--with the loads of wealth that would be theirs some time! They might well laugh at the idea.

      "Only that--that it is uncertain how long we may require to live in it," she said, with a slight hesitation. "I suppose that--some time----"

      "We shall have to leave it for my father's home. True. But that, I trust, may be a long while off. And then we could re-sell Raven's Priory."

      "Yes, of course. It is a nice place, William?"

      "Charming," he replied with enthusiasm. For, of course, all things, the proposed residence included, were to him the hue of couleur-de-rose.

      "I have never been inside it," she observed.

      "No. The Wests are churlish people, keeping no company. Report says that Mrs. West is a hypochondriac. They let me go in this morning, and I went over all the house. It is the nicest place, love--and not too large or too small for us; and the Wests have kept it in good condition. You will be charmed with the drawing-rooms, Mary; and the conservatory is one of the best I ever saw. They want us to take to the plants."

      "Are they nice?"

      "Beautiful. The Wests are moving to London, to be near good advice for her, and they do not expect to get anything of a conservatory there; at least, that is worth the name. I wonder what your papa will think about this house, Mary? We might tell him of it now. Where is he?"

      "He is out," she answered. "Just as he was going up to dress, Thomas Hill sent for him downstairs, and they went out somewhere together. Papa ran up to tell me he would be back as soon as he could, but that I must for once receive the people alone."

      "I wish I might stand by your side to help receive them!" he said, impulsively. "Would any of them faint at it? Do you think Mrs. Webb would, if she were here?" he continued, with a smile. "Ah, well--a short while, my darling, and I shall have the right to stand by you."

      He stole his arm round her waist, and whispered to her a repetition of those love vows that had so often before charmed her ear and thrilled her heart. Her cheek touched his shoulder; the faint perfume of her costly fan, that she swayed unconsciously as it hung from her wrist, was to him like an odour from Paradise. He recounted to her all the features he remembered of the house that neither of them doubted would be their future home; and the minutes passed, in, to both, bliss unutterable.

      The crashing up of a carriage--of two carriages it seemed--warned them that this sweet pastime was at an end. Sounds of bustle in the hall succeeded to it: the servants were receiving the first guests.

      "Oh, William--I forgot--I meant to tell you," she hurriedly whispered. "I had the most ugly dream last night. And you know I very rarely do dream. I have not been able to get it out of my mind all day."

      "What is it, Mary?"

      "I thought we were separated, you and I; separated for ever. We had quarrelled, I think; that point was not clear; but you turned off one way, and I another. It was in the gallery of this house, William, and we had been talking together. You went out at the other end, by the door near the dining-room, and I at this end; and we turned at the last and looked at one another. Oh, the look was dreadful! I shall never forget it: so full of pain and sadness! And we knew, both of us knew, that it was the last farewell look; that we should never again meet in this world."

      "Oh, my love! my love!" he murmured, bending his face on hers. "And you could let it trouble you!--knowing it was but a dream! Nothing but the decree of God--death--shall ever separate us, Mary. For weal or for woe, we will go through the life here together."

      He kissed away the tears that had gathered in her eyes at the remembrance; and Miss Castlemaine turned hastily into one of the larger rooms, and took up her standing there in expectation. For the feet of the gay world were already traversing the gallery.

      She welcomed her guests, soon coming in thick and threefold, with the gracious manner and the calm repose of bearing that always characterised her, apologising to all for the absence of her father; telling that he had been called out unexpectedly on some matter of business, but would soon return. Amid others, came the party from Greylands' Rest, arriving rather late: Mrs. Castlemaine in black velvet, leaning on the arm of her stepson; Ethel Reene walking modestly behind, in a simple dress of white net, adorned with white ribbons. There was many a fine young man present, but never a finer or more attractive one than Harry Castlemaine; with the handsome Castlemaine features, the easy, independent bearing, and the ready tongue.

      "Is it of any use to ask whether you are at liberty to honour me with your hand for the first dance, Mary Ursula?" he inquired, after leaving Mrs. Castlemaine on a sofa.

      "Not