Auber led Esmé to her favourite seat, a rock overhanging the river and shaded by wild cherry and old garden trees. Here they talked with the familiarity of intimate acquaintance. Esmé asked him to tell her some of the stories of operas, and Auber led Esmé in imagination through the scenes of "La Sonnambula," "Norma," "I Puritani." As he. dwelt artfully, yet delicately, on the scenes of passion, a blush would rise on Esmé's cheek; when, his voice changing its tone, he would lead to a different scene. At last Glenbenrough and Marchmoram appeared in the distance, and as they arose and moved to join them, Auber said to Esmé,

"These little talks are very pleasant, Esmé; I hope we may have them oftener. I shall ride over here on the afternoon of the 23rd, and leave Dreumah earlier than the others; could you not go to Lochandhu that day for lilies? If you are there soon after three o'clock, I might escort you back to Glenbenrough."

Esmé hesitated a moment; Auber looked at her with a smile of surprise, and repeated his question. Not allowing herself time to analyze conflicting feelings, she answered, as they were almost within hearing of the others,

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Yes-perhaps."

On the morning of the 23rd of September Normal Mac Alastair left Arduashien for Glenbenrough; but ere he reached the latter place an adventure had befallen him. He rode the first fifteen miles, carrying his gun slung to the crupper of his saddle; then, dismounting at a lonely little wayside inn, which stood on the hill track parallel to that terminating at Dreumah, he pursued his way on foot; that exercise suiting his inclination best. In riding up to the inn, Normal had noticed a large travelling carriage, heavily laden with imperials, and drawn by four wearied horses, toiling slowly up the steep ascent before him; probably conveying some wealthy English visitors to their fashionable friends' shooting quarters. The host of the inn, who was filling his snuff-mull lazily at the door, replied in Gaelic to Normal's inquiry, that he knew nothing of their course or destination.

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"Muckle fine sassenach servants!" he said. They asked had we corn and stabling; and girned and snickered when I showed them the byre, where our ain beasts lie. The wife though, she up and told them she wad na be fashed to turn out the kye for them. It's she that'll no be put upon by ignorant, prood, forrein folk!"

"Those horses will never pull on to Braemorin," Normal observed. In the meantime the carriage went on, toiling up a steep rugged track between high barrier hills, and swaying heavily with the weight of luggage and the inequality of the road; the horses stopped for breath when about a mile past the inn, and where the hills seemed to crush together in advance and sternly forbid all farther progress. The fortress required but to be stormed, however, for within a hundred yards there was a rent in the foremost rock; through this rugged natural archway the carriage noisily passed, and then the horses' feet pressed onwards down a grassy winding ravine, a luxurious contrast; the way winding amid high banks of natural waving grass and steep wooded hill sides, green with feathery birch and palmy fern, beneath rocky precipices bright with purple heather, and slanting down into a shadowy and sunlit gorge, soft and bright as a painter's dream: it was a scene not to be passed unheeded.

The carriage again stopped, and ere officious maid and valet could descend to assist, the door opened and a tall woman alighted; she waved her hand to the driver to proceed, and smiled and nodded to an elderly man who looked out after her as she quickly walked on. The lady was very tall, of a slight and straight figure, with pale, dark features, shadowed by a black broad-brimmed riding hat. She wore a plain, gray travelling dress, and her step had the firm elasticity and conscious ease of a high-bred woman, as she trod the smooth grassy track. It was a fine face, and the eyes looked with a clear and decided gaze on all the scenery around; but neither on the face nor on the eyes was there any kindling glow of pleasure it was a cold, impassable face; too smooth and polished to be called worn, but without a trace of sensibility or freshness. As the lady walked on she appeared absent, and spoke audibly to herself; taking out a little note-book, she seemed absorbed over some written leaves, then she wrote in it with a pencil; but certainly that pencil traced no sketch or observation of the scene before her. At last the bracing, perfumed air seemed to recal her to the present; and ascending a wild rock, she looked around, apparently in search of the carriage. It was nowhere visible; so she clambered upwards to a precipitous path, which ran along the gorge at a great height from the track beneath: it was slippery, from its rich verdure being saturated by the trickling burns which flooded it every here and there.

The view before her extended far beyond, into wilder glens and along winding rivers-an unbroken solitude and she started with surprise at the presence of two persons seated in the heather, almost in the path before her. There sat a young man and a Highland shepherd maid, their arms entwined around each other, and partly screened from her haughty view by wild honeysuckle and tangling brier: those two hearts were beating too closely together, the words of love were too softly, rapidly whispered, for the pair to perceive the stately contempt of that lady, who, drawing herself to her full height, seemed as if prepared to overawe them by her dignified presence. She advanced with averted look; yet, as if impelled by some fascination, cast a momentary glance at the lovers. Had an adder sprung up at her feet; had the rock beneath her opened a fiery gulph; the agony of her expression-her dumb, ghastly attempt to escape the sight before her could not have been more horrifying. That cold, impassable face became white and spectral, the eyes fiercely glared like a tiger's at bay, the thin lips were drawn convulsively, the low, Greek brow was contracted, and her trembling fingers grasped the rock for support. Clinging to a rowan-tree that overhung the edge of the path,. she sunk down upon her knees, and her head struck upon the ground: her brain was reeling. Presently she rose, and summoning strength, retraced her steps some paces; but the pair might move away and come upon her again: she must climb and get higher up-ascend the hills to avoid them. Quickly, and with excitement almost maddening, she climbed the almost precipitous rocks above; her delicate foot resting on the sharpedged ledge, and her jewelled hands grasping the thorny whin, she dragged herself up, her dress hanging about her in torn strips, and blood starting at the knee. But this day's struggle was not over yet. On the heights above, a wide expanse of moor and wood, bounded by high rocky hills, lay spread around, and at the distance of about half a mile, the termination of the long deep gorge below seemed gained. A beaten road then appeared, emerging from a thicket of pine and fir; and there the travelling carriage was drawn up, evidently awaiting her approach. The lady took off her hat, and sinking down on a moss-covered stone, sat there immovable, her face buried between her hands; long, deep drawn inspirations marking the reaction of excitement and fatigue. When she looked up, her eyes were bloodshot and a tear quivered in each; she wiped them proudly, and a hard, determined look succeeded; the cold,

polished calm came gradually back, as she sat there in the mountain breeze, and an expression of disdainful power showed whence it came. "I am strong," was written in every lineament of that haughty, but impassive, face. The lady arose at last and walked on, apparently restored to her previous dignified calmness; but she was not likely to forget this Highland walk.

As she advanced, the sound of an axe striking amongst the trees attracted her; and, thinking it might be a wood-cutter who would direct her to an easier path, the lady turned into the wood towards it. A loud discordant voice, singing a Gaelic psalm, to the time of the strokes, led her on, and in a few moments she had confronted the singer: it was Angus of the Hammer; he was half naked, as usual, having only a tattered plaid tied by a rope round his waist, and he was beating and bruising the trees with his ponderous hammer. Insanity burnt in his light glazed eye; and his long matted hair hung like a yellow mane on his shoulders. Without stopping to scrutinize the man, whom she took for one of the savage peasantry, she asked, in an imperious tone, "Can you direct me to the road beneath?" Angus N'Ort appeared neither to see nor to hear her; he went on striking the trees and muttering in Gaelic and English: "Hew them an' hack them: the Philistines are against thee! Cleave them, and brain them! Scatter the ungodly to the winds!" The lady understood not a word of his idiom, so she repeated her query a little louder, and advanced a step nearer, with an expression of disgust on her face. Angus ceased for a moment, and stared wonderingly on this apparition; a blank look came over his otherwise not unvacant visage, and, as if understanding that it was some kind of request she addressed to him, he fumbled with his hand into a woollen bag he wore tied round his brawny neck, and drew out a tin snuff-box which he proffered, saying gruffly, "Sneezhin ?" The lady, who did not know that to offer a pinch of snuff is the most ordinary mode of salutation in the Highlands, frowned, and with a scornful gesture repulsed the proffered civility. "Do you understand me? she said; "I desire to know which path to take, so as to get easiest down. Show me, I will pay you." That look and bearing struck dangerously on the madman's fancy: perhaps the recent excitement had given the lady's eye an unnatural light of imperiousness; and then her dress was unusual. He bent forward as if to listen, and whispered hoarsely,

and

"Were ye sent here? Are ye an angel o' mammon's; if so, I'm against ye!" and he put out his finger to touch her. "Don't touch me!' she exclaimed, drawing back with loathing. "He must be mad," she muttered, as she turned away to regain, the path. But it was too late. Angus N'Ort sprang after her: his mad fury was excited, and tossing his head like a bull waxing wroth, and foaming at the mouth, he strode by her, muttering inarticulate words: his rage, and her danger, increasing every moment.

"Touch ye not! Touch ye not! Then ye're one o' the Deamhan's dark ones! I must hae conflict wi' ye-here, out on the lone hill top ! 'Consume them in wrath,' it is said! I'll consume thee: I'll send thee down to the place o' dragons!" He seized her arm and tried to drag her along. They were on the very edge of the slippery precipice, and with sudden ireful energy she unloosed his grasp and thrust him back; then, trembling as much from insulted pride as fear, she stamped her foot and bade him begone. The flame of madness was kindled: he sprang on the high-born woman with a yell, shouting, "Down, down to the pit o' perdition! Pride takes its fa'. Down to death and torment! Then, bending her slight figure in his grasp like a reed, he prepared to hurl her over the precipice. The appalling danger of death at the hands of a Highland madman was, however, averted by an unforeseen interposition: at that critical moment, a strong and, well-directed blow, struck by a vigorous arm, felled the madman like a bull; and as Angus N'Ort rolled over, the lady sprang up unhurt from the ground.

Young Normal Mac Alastair it was who thus timely interposed. Setting his foot on the prostrate assailant, with the leathern belt of his gun he endeavoured to tie the madman's hands. A struggle ensued, which, in its ferocity and strength, fascinated the eye of the lady; who leant, pale as a statue, against a tree. Brute rage and frantic force strove against masculine courage and high-tempered strength. The athletic figure of young Normal striving with the yelling naked madman, who, conquered, lay beneath his feet, might have served for a model to the sculptor. Angus gnashed his teeth in helpless rage, and snapped at Normal's knee as it pressed on his brawny chest, while his hands were being bound together; and when Normal finally threw a handkerchief over the madman's eyes as he rose, the yells of Angus were fearful, and his execrations terrible in their import.