ut go always round;
Hast labor'd, but with purpose; hast become
Laborious, persevering, serious, firm--
For this thy track across the fretful foam
Of vehement actions without scope or term,
Call'd history, keeps a splendor, due to wit,
Which saw one clue to life and followed it."

XII--"I know, dear heart! that in our lot
May mingle tears and sorrow;
But love's rich rainbow's built from tears
To-day, with smiles to-morrow,
The sunshine from our sky may die,
The greenness from life's tree,
But ever 'mid the warring storm
Thy nest shall shelter'd be.
The world may never know, dear heart!
What I have found in thee;
But, though nought to the world, dear heart!
Thou'rt all the world to me."

EPILOGUE.
"Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
The fatal shadows that walk by us still."

MARIE GOURDON.

CHAPTER I.

"Wae's me for Prince Chairlie."

Old Scotch Song.

It was a dark gloomy night in the year 1745. Huge clouds hung in heavy
masses over the sky, ready to discharge their heavy burden at any moment.
The thunder echoed and re-echoed with deafening crashes, as if the whole
artillery of heaven were arrayed in mighty warfare, and shook even the
giant crag on which the castle of Dunmorton was situated.

Fierce indeed was the tempest without, but within the castle raged one
still fiercer--that of two strong natures fighting a bitter battle. So
loud were their voices raised in altercation that the storm without was
scarce heeded.

Dunmorton was a fine old castle of the Norman type, with a large moat
surrounding it, and having all the characteristics appertaining to the
feudal state. To the rear of the moat, behind the castle, stretched broad
lands, on which were scattered many cottages, whose occupants had paid
feu-duty to the Lords of Dunmorton for many a generation. To the left of
these cottages stretched a large pinewood, with thickly grown underbrush,
where, in blissful ignorance of their coming fate, luxuriated golden
pheasants and many a fat brace of partridge. That night, the depths of
the pine forest were shaken, for the storm was worse than usual even for
the east coast of Scotland, where storms are so frequent.

Crossing the drawbridge, and coming to the low Norman arched doorway, one
entered at once into the hall. This was a lofty room some twelve feet
wide. At one end of it was a broa