aspect or his demeanour, which is not strictly in conformity with the character he represents. He is clad in the garb of an American Indian. He is evidently playing the part of one of high dignity among his fellows, for his apparel is rich and costly, and his bearing is that of one who has been accustomed to rule. The dress is certainly a splendid make-up, and the wearer is evidently a consummate actor. How proudly he stalks from room to room, stately, silent, leonine, majestic. Lara himself—who, by the way, had not then been invented— had not a more chilling mystery of mien. He is above the average height—not much under six feet—and the nodding plumes of his crest make him look several inches taller than he is in reality. His tomahawk, which hangs loosely exposed at his girdle, glitters like highly-polished silver; and the hand which ever and anon toys with the haft is long and bony. The dark, piercing eyes seem almost to transfix every one upon whom they rest. One half of the face seems to be covered by a mask, made to imitate the freshly-painted visage of a Mohawk Indian when starting out upon the war path. He is evidently bent upon preserving a strict incognito, for the hours pass by and still no one has heard the sound of his voice. The curiosity of the other guests is aroused, and, pass from room to room as often as he may, a numerous train follows in his wake. One of the masquers composing this train is arrayed in the loose vestments of a Turk, and indeed is suspected to be a genuine native of the Ottoman Empire who has been sent to England on a diplomatic mission. Being emboldened by the wine he has drunk, the Oriental determines to penetrate the mystery of the dusky stranger. He approaches the seeming Indian, and after various ineffectual attempts to arrest his attention, lays violent hold of the latter's nose. Scarcely has he touched that organ when a blood-curdling yell, such as has never before been heard within the three kingdoms, resounds through the mansion.
"Ah, then and there was hurrying to and fro!"
"The peal of the distant drum did not spread greater consternation among the dancers at Brussels on the night before Waterloo. What wonder that female lips blanched, and that even masculine cheeks grew pale? That yell was the terrible war-whoop of the Mohawks, and came hot from the throat of the mysterious unknown. The truth flashed upon all beholders. The stranger was no disguised masquerader, but a veritable
