“Where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental vessel?” exclaimed the Episcopal clergyman.

This question drew the notice of the guests to the silver cup, which was recognized as appertaining to the communion-plate of the Old South Church, and, for aught that could be known, it was brimming over with the consecrated wine.

“Perhaps it is poisoned,” half whispered the governor’s secretary.

“Pour it down the villain’s throat!” cried the Virginian, fiercely.

“Turn him out of the house!” cried Captain Langford, seizing Jervase Helwyse so roughly by the shoulder that the sacramental cup was overturned and its contents sprinkled upon Lady Eleanore’s mantle.  “Whether knave, fool or Bedlamite, it is intolerable that the fellow should go at large.”

“Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm,” said Lady Eleanore, with a faint and weary smile.  “Take him out of my sight, if such be your pleasure, for I can find in my heart to do nothing but laugh at him, whereas, in all decency and conscience, it would become me to weep for the mischief I have wrought.”

But while the bystanders were attempting to lead away the unfortunate young man he broke from them and with a wild, impassioned earnestness offered a new and equally strange petition to Lady Eleanore.  It was no other than that she should throw off the mantle, which while he pressed the silver cup of wine upon her she had drawn more closely around her form, so as almost to shroud herself within it.

“Cast it from you,” exclaimed Jervase Helwyse, clasping his hands in an agony of entreaty.  “It may not yet be too late.  Give the accursed garment to the flames.”

But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the rich folds of the embroidered mantle over her head in such a fashion as to give a completely new aspect to her beautiful face, which, half hidden, half revealed, seemed to belong to some being of mysterious character and purposes.

“Farewell, Jervase Helwyse!” said she.  “Keep my image in your remembrance as you behold it now.”

“Alas, lady!” he replied, in a tone no longer wild, but sad as a funeral-bell; “we must meet shortly when your face may wear another aspect, and that shall be the image that must abide within me.”  He made no more resistance to the violent efforts of the gentlemen and servants who almost dragged him out of the apartment and dismissed him roughly from the iron gate of the province-house.

Captain Langford, who had been very active in this affair, was returning to the presence of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, when he encountered the physician, Dr. Clarke, with whom he had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival.  The doctor stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore by the width of the room, but eying her with such keen sagacity that Captain Langford involuntarily gave him credit for the discovery of some deep secret.

“You appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms of this queenly maiden,” said he, hoping thus to draw forth the physician’s hidden knowledge.