in with her and give her a name as reverend as any in the shire,
for who are older than the Campbells of Keils? It's an old story, and in
a way it was only yesterday: sometimes I think it must be only a dream.
But, dream or waking, I can see plainly my brother Dugald there, home on
leave, make visitation to Glen Shira. I have seen him ambling up there
happy on his horse (it was Black Geordie, Dugald,--well I mind him), and
coming down again at night with a glow upon his countenance. Miss Mary,
she would be daffing with him on his return, with a 'How's her leddyship
to-day, Dugald?' and he would be in a pleasant vexation at this guessing
of what he thought his secret. It was no secret: was ever such a thing
secret in the shire of Argyll? We all knew it. She was Mary's friend
and companion; she would come to our house here on a Saturday; I see her
plainly on that chair at the window."

The General turned with a gasp, following his brother's glance. "I wish
to God you would not be so terribly precise," was what he said. And then
he fingered at his glass anew.

"Many a time she sat there with our sister, the smell of the wallflower
on the sill about her, and many a time she sang 'The Rover' in this
room. In this very room, Dugald: isn't every word I'm saying true?
Of course it is. God! as if a dream could be so fine! Well, well! my
brother, who sits there all bye with such affairs, went away on another
war. She was vexed. The woods of Shira Glen were empty for her after
that, I have no doubt, now that their rambles were concluded; she was
lonely on the Dhuloch-side, where many a time he convoyed her home in
the summer gloaming. He came back a tired man, a man hashed about with
wounds and voyaging, cold nights, wet marches, bitter cruel fare, not
the same at all in make or fashion, or in gaiety, that went away. The
girl--the girl was cold. I hate to say it, Dugald, but what is the harm
in a story so old? She came about Miss Mary in this house as before, no
way blate, but it was 'Hands off!' for the man who had so liked her."

He paused and stretched to fill his glass, but as he seized the bottle
the hand shook so that he laid the vessel down in shame. The boy
stood entranced, following the story intimately, guessing every coming
sentence, filling up its bald outline with the pictures of his brain;
riding with the General, almost in his prime and almost handsome, and
hearing the woman sing in the window chair; feeling the s