We meet, as men see phantoms¹ in a dream,

Which glide², and sigh, and sign, and move their lips,

But make no sound; or, if they utter voice,

’Tis but a low and undistinguish’d moaning,

Which has nor word nor sense of utter’d sound.

THE CHIEFTAIN.

We said, at the conclusion of the last chapter, that a female form appeared at the door of Moultrassie Hall; and that the well-known accents of Alice Bridgenorth were heard to hail the return of her father, from what she naturally dreaded³ as a perilous⁴ visit to the Castle of Martindale.

Julian, who followed his conductor with a throbbing⁵ heart into the lighted hall, was therefore prepared to see her whom he best loved, with her arms thrown around her father. The instant she had quitted his paternal⁶ embrace, she was aware of the unexpected guest who had returned in his company. A deep blush, rapidly succeeded by a deadly paleness, and again by a slighter suffusion⁷, showed plainly to her lover that his sudden appearance was anything but indifferent to her. He bowed profoundly — a courtesy which she returned with equal formality, but did not venture to approach more nearly, feeling at once the delicacy⁸ of his own situation and of hers.

Major Bridgenorth turned his cold, fixed⁹, grey, melancholy¹⁰ glance, first on the one of them and then on the other. “Some,” he said gravely, “would, in my case, have avoided this meeting; but I have confidence in you both, although you are young, and

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