flashed upon them.

"Gang in amang them a', my leddy," cried Meg, letting go my hand and
waving me toward the entrance, "and gin ye suld see bonny Harry
Bertram, tell him there is ane he kens o' will meet him the night down
by the cairn when the clock strikes the hour o' twal."

Obeying her mandate, I now found myself in a lofty and spacious
saloon. From the ceiling, which was of azure sprinkled with golden
stars, were suspended the most magnificent chandeliers, brilliant with
a thousand waxen tapers. Gorgeous and life-like tapestry adorned the
walls--massive mirrors reflected on every side the blaze of elegance,
while the furniture, patterning the fashions of the different ages
from the times of the Crusades to that of Elizabeth, was of the most
choice and beautiful materials.

But of this I took little note--other and "more attractive metal" met
my eye, for around me were kings and princes--peer and peasant--lords
and ladies--turbaned infidel and helmeted knight--the wild roving
gipsy and the wandering troubadour. In short, I found myself in the
_world_ of the immortal master of Abbotsford, and surrounded by those
to whose enchanting company I had oft been indebted for dispelling
many a weary hour of sickness and gloom--friends whom at my bidding I
could at any moment summon to my presence--friends never weary of
well-doing--friends never weighing down the heart by their unkindness,
or chilling by their neglect. My heart throbbed with a delight before
unknown; and I eagerly looked about me, recognizing on every side
those dear familiar ones with whom, for so many years, I had been
linked in love and friendship.

The first group on whom my eyes rested were our dear friends from
Tully-Veolan accompanied by the McIvors.

The beautiful, high-souled Flora was leaning on the arm of the good
old Baron Bradwardine, while the gentle Rose shrunk almost timidly
from the support of the noble but ill-fated Fergus. They were both
lovely--Flora and Rose; but while the former dazzled by her beauty and
her wit, the latter, in unpretending sweetness, stole at once into our
hearts. But not so thought Waverly. With "ear polite" he listened to
the somewhat tedious colloquy of the old baron, yet his eloquent eyes,
his heart speaking through them, were fixed upon the noble countenance
of Flora McIvor.

"Come, good folks," cried a merry voice--and the bright, happy face of
Julia Mannering was before me--"I am sent by my honored fathe