re white; as Gilian returned his greeting he felt himself in an
enviable and superior presence.

Promptly, too, there came like a breath upon glass a remembrance of the
ensign of the same corps who kissed his hand to Nan on just such another
day of sunshine at Boshang Gate.

"Glad to see you back, Islay," said the Paymaster, proffering his
Sabbath snuff-mull. "Faith, you do credit to the coat!" And he cast an
admiring eye upon the young soldier.

Young Islay showed his satisfaction in his face.

"But it's a smaller coat than yours, Captain," said he, "and easier
filled nowadays than when fighting was in fashion. I'm afraid the old
school would have the better of us."

It was a touch of Gaelic courtesy to an elder, well-meant, pardonable;
it visibly pleased the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, and he
looked more in admiration than before upon this smart young officer.

"Up the Glen yet, Gilian?" said Islay, with the old schoolboy freedom,
and Gilian carelessly nodded, his eyes once more roving on the road
to Boshang Gate. Young Islay looked at him curiously, a little smile
hovering about the corners of his lips, for he knew the dreamer's
reputation.

The Paymaster gave a contemptuous "Humph!" "Up the Glen yet. You may
well say it," said he. "And like to be. It's a fine clime for stirks."

Gilian did not hear it, but Miss Mary felt it sting to her very heart,
and she moved away, pressing upon her favourite's arm to bring him with
her. "We must be moving," said she; "Peggy will be scolding about the
dinner spoiled with waiting."

But no one else seemed willing to break up the group. Young Islay had
become the centre of attraction. MacGibbon and Major Hall, the Sheriff,
Mr. Spencer and the dominie, listened to his words as to a sage,
gratified by his robust and handsome youth, and the Turners had him
by the arm and questioned him upon his experience. Major Mac-Nicol,
ludicrous in a bottle-green coat with abrupt tails and an English beaver
hat of an ancient pattern, jinked here and there among the people,
tip-toeing, round shouldered, with eyes peering and alarmed, jerking
his head across his shoulder at intervals to see that no musket barrel
threatened, and at times, for a moment or two, he would hang upon the
outskirts of Young Islay's _levee_, with a hand behind an ear to listen
to his story, filled for a little space with a wave of vague and bitter
recollection that never broke upon the shore of solid un