ence we had
a view of some fore-shortened suburbs at our feet, and beyond of a
green, open, and irregular country rising towards the Pentland Hills.
The face of one of these summits (say two leagues from where we stood)
is marked with a procession of white scars. And to this she directed my
attention.

"You see these marks?" she said. "We call them the Seven Sisters. Follow
a little lower with your eye, and you will see a fold of the hill, the
tops of some trees, and a tail of smoke out of the midst of them. That
is Swanston Cottage, where my brother and I are living with my aunt. If
it gives you pleasure to see it, I am glad. We, too, can see the Castle
from a corner in the garden, and we go there in the morning often--do
we not, Ronald?--and we think of you, M. de Saint-Yves; but I am afraid
it does not altogether make us glad!"

"Mademoiselle!" said I, and indeed my voice was scarce under command,
"if you knew how your generous words--how even the sight of
you--relieved the horrors of this place, I believe, I hope, I know, you
would be glad. I will come here daily and look at that dear chimney and
these green hills, and bless you from the heart, and dedicate to you the
prayers of this poor sinner. Ah! I do not say they can avail!"

"Who can say that, M. de Saint-Yves?" she said softly.--"But I think it
is time we should be going."

"High time," said Ronald, whom (to say the truth) I had a little
forgotten.

On the way back, as I was laying myself out to recover lost ground with
the youth, and to obliterate, if possible, the memory of my last and
somewhat too fervent speech, who should come past us but the major! I
had to stand aside and salute as he went by, but his eyes appeared
entirely occupied with Flora.

"Who is that man?" she asked.

"He is a friend of mine," said I. "I give him lessons in French, and he
has been very kind to me."

"He stared," she said,--"I do not say rudely; but why should he stare?"

"If you do not wish to be stared at, mademoiselle, suffer me to
recommend a veil," said I.

She looked at me with what seemed anger. "I tell you the man stared,"
she said.

And Ronald added: "O, I don't think he meant any harm. I suppose he was
just surprised to see us walking about with a pr--with M. Saint-Yves."

But the next morning, when I went to Chevenix's rooms, and after I had
dutifully corrected his exercise--"I compliment you on your taste," said
he to me.

"I beg your pardon?" said