"The time is not yet come," said Linden, "for the fulfilment of this
promise; but may I--dare I hope, that when it does, I shall not be--"

"Flora, my love," said Lady Westborough, "let me introduce to you Lord
Borodaile."

Lady Flora turned: the spell was broken; and the lovers were instantly
transformed into ordinary mortals. But, as Flora, after returning
Lord Borodaile's address, glanced her eye towards Clarence, she was
struck with the sudden and singular change of his countenance; the
flush of youth and passion was fled, his complexion was deadly pale,
and his eyes were fixed with a searching and unaccountable meaning
upon the face of the young nobleman, who was alternately addressing,
with a quiet and somewhat haughty fluency, the beautiful mother, and
the more lovely though less commanding daughter. Directly Linden
perceived that he was observed, he rose, turned away, and was soon
lost among the crowd.

Lord Borodaile, the son and heir of the powerful Earl of Ulswater, was
about the age of thirty, small, slight, and rather handsome than
otherwise, though his complexion was dark and sallow; and a very
aquiline nose gave a stern and somewhat severe air to his countenance.
He had been for several years abroad, in various parts of the
Continent, and (no other field for an adventurous and fierce spirit
presenting itself) had served with the gallant Earl of Effingham, in
the war between the Turks and Russians, as a volunteer in the armies
of the latter. In this service he had been highly distinguished for
courage and conduct; and, on his return to England about a twelvemonth
since, had obtained the command of a cavalry regiment. Passionately
fond of his profession, he entered into its minutest duties with a