The time fixed for the important ceremony now rapidly approached; the election of the deputies was concluded, and the families of the duke and Sir Ambrose prepared to return to town. The night, however, before they departed, the duke gave a grand fête champêtre to the neighbouring gentry; and as a considerable number of the deputies were expected, he particularly enjoined Elvira to exert herself to the utmost to win their suffrages. Never perhaps had Elvira looked more beautiful than she did that night, as, pale, trembling and timid, she received her numerous guests; and never, perhaps, was effect more magical than that which her appearance produced. Her very diffidence and modesty attracted; and the reserve, with which she shunned, rather than sought the attention of the crowd, completed the enchantment.
"It is her fear of seeming to wish to interest us," whispered one deputy to another, "that makes her treat us so coldly."
"Yes," replied the other; "and I like her the better for it. If she were to attempt to make herself agreeable, I should hate her; the duke and Sir Ambrose have sickened us of that!"
The fête was given in the gardens of the duke, which were beautiful and extensive, and now brilliantly illuminated by lamps suspended from the trees. There was something, however, not quite congenial to Elvira's taste in thus marrying the gorgeous splendour of art to the simplicity of nature, and she sighed heavily as she watched the flaring lamps scorching the calm pale verdure of the trees.
"Now this is as it should be," said the old duke, as he led his daughter to the pavilion appointed for her to receive her guests; "Elvira now looks like herself. Does she not, Dr. Coleman?"
The doctor shook his head: "I fear," began he—
"Oh! we will have no fears to-night!" cried the duke gaily; "remember, Elvira! every thing now depends upon you. Play the part of the smiling, condescending hostess; win the hearts of the deputies, and you will make that of your old father leap for joy. We shall have a gay party, sha'n't we, doctor?" continued he, eyeing the groups as they advanced. "I wish your friend, Henry Seymour, were here amongst us."
Elvira started, and deep blushes suffused her cheeks at the mention of this name. The doctor eyed her attentively, though he replied as though he had not noticed her agitation. "It was urgent business, you know, that obliged him to leave England."
"He was a charming youth," said the duke; "so gay and yet so fearless. I think, however, I observed that his spirits seemed much depressed the last time I saw him."
"You know he said it was the death—I mean the illness of a relation, that compelled him to go."