nd of hardships scarce to be conceived. She too
had endured much in that time. Scarce a house in Raasay but had been razed
by the enemy because her brothers and their following had been "out" with
us. I was to discover whether her liking for me had outlived the turmoils
of "the '45," or had been but a girlish fancy.

My glance flashed past Miss Flora Macdonald and found Aileen on the
instant. For a hundredth part of a second our eyes met before she fell to
making her devoirs to the Young Chevalier, and after that I did not need
to be told that my little friend was still staunch and leal. I could
afford to wait my turn with composure, content to watch with long-starved
eyes the delicacy and beauty of this sweet wild rose I coveted. Sure, hers
was a charm that custom staled not nor longer acquaintance made less
alluring. Every mood had its own characteristic fascination, and are not
the humours of a woman numberless? She had always a charming note of
unconventional freshness, a childlike _naivete_ of immaturity and
unsophistication at times, even a certain girlish shy austerity that had
for me a touch of saintliness. But there-- Why expatiate? A lover's
midsummer madness, you will say!

My turn at last! The little brown hand pressed mine firmly for an instant,
the warm blue eyes met mine full and true, the pulse in the soft-throated
neck beat to a recognition of my presence. I found time to again admire
the light poise of the little head carried with such fine spirit, the
music of the broken English speech in this vibrant Highland voice.

"Welcome-- Welcome to Raasay, my friend!" Then her eyes falling on the
satin cockade so faded and so torn, there came a tremulous little catch to
her voice, a fine light to her eyes. "It iss the good tale that my
brothers have been telling me of Kenneth Montagu's brave devotion to hiss
friends, but I wass not needing to hear the story from them. I will be
thinking that I knew it all already," she said, a little timidly.

I bowed low over her hand and kissed it. "My friends make much of nothing.
Their fine courage reads their own spirit reflected in the eyes of
others."

"Oh, then I will have heard the story wrong. It would be Donald who went
back to Drummossie Moor after you when you were wounded?"

"Could a friend do less?"

"Or more?"

"He would have done as much for me. My plain duty!" I said, shrugging,
anxious to be done with the subject.

She looked at me with sparkling e