y
the side of Governor Fauquier, and is playing away with the utmost
delight.

In this way the ball commenced; and so it went on with loud music, and
a hum of voices rising almost to a shout at times, until the supper
hour. And then, the profuse supper having been discussed with that
honorable devotion which ever characterizes Virginians, the dancing
recommenced, more madly than ever.

But let not the reader imagine that the dances of the old time were
like our own. Not at all. They had no waltzes, polkas, or the like,
but dignified quadrilles, and stately minuets; and it was only when
the company had become perfectly acquainted with each other, at the
end of the assembly, that the reel was inaugurated, with its wild
excessive mirth--its rapid, darting, circling, and exuberant delight.

Poor Sir Asinus! he had not been well treated by his lady-love--we
mean the little Martha. That young lady liked the noble knight, but
Brutus-like, loved Bathurst more. The worthy Sir Asinus found his
graces of mind and person no match for the laughing freckled face of
her youthful admirer, and with all the passing hours he grew more sad.

He ended by offering his heart and hand, we verily believe, in the
middle of a quadrille; but on this point we are not quite certain.
Sure are we that on this night the great politician found himself
defeated by a boy--this we may assert from after events.

In the excess of his mortification he betook himself to cards, and was
soon sent away penniless. He rose from the card-table feeling, like
Catiline, ripe for conspiracy and treason. He re-entered the ball-room
and strolled about disconsolate--a stalking ghost.

Just as he made his appearance a lady entered from the opposite door,
and Sir Asinus felt the arm of a gentleman, against whom he was
pressed by the crowd, tremble. He turned and looked at him. It was
Mowbray; and he was looking at the lady who had just entered.

This lady was Philippa.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ERNEST AND PHILIPPA.

The young girl had never looked more beautiful. She was clad in a
simple white satin, her dazzling arms were bare, but she wore not a
single bracelet; her hair was carried back from her temples, and
powdered until it resembled a midnight strewed with star-dust--but not
a single jewel glittered above her imperial brow, or on her neck. She
looked like an uncrowned queen, and took her place as one not needing
ornaments.

Poor Mowbray, as we have seen, t