n they came to it had a ripple on its shore, so that they
were at the bridge and yet the one who led was not aware that he was
followed. He leaned upon the crenelated parapet and hummed a strain of
song as Gilian came up to him with a swinging step, now on the footway.

Young Islay started at this approach without warning, but he was not
afraid. He peered into Gilian's face when he had come up to him.

"Oh, you!" said he. "I got quite a start, I thought at first it was
Drimmin dorran's ghost." This, laughingly, of a shade with a reputation
for haunting these evening solitudes.

"You're late on the road?" he went on curiously.

"No later than yourself," answered Gilian, vaguely grieving to find that
this was the substance of his shadow on the blind and the audience for
Miss Nan's entertainment.

"Oh! I was--I was on a visit," said Young Islay. He went closer up to
Gilian and added eagerly, as one glad to unbosom, "Man! did you ever
hear--did you ever hear Miss Nan sing?"

"Long ago," said Gilian; "it's an old story." "Lucky man!" said Young
Islay enviously, "to be here so long to listen when I was far away."

"She was away herself a good deal," said Gilian, "but when we heard her
we quite appreciated our opportunities, I assure you."

"Did you, faith?" said Young Islay, with a jealous tone. "You seem," he
went on, "to have made very little use of them. I wonder where the eyes
of you could be. I never saw her, really, till an hour or two ago. I
never heard her sing before, but yet, some way----" He hesitated in
embarrassment.

Gilian made no answer. He felt it the most natural thing in the world
that any one seeing and hearing Nan should appreciate herself and her
singing. There was no harm in that.

The night was solemn with the continual cry of the owls that abound in
the woody shoulder of Duntorvil; a sweet balmy influence loaded the air,
stars gathered in patches between drifts of cloud. For some distance the
young men walked together silent, till Young Islay spoke.

"I've been away seeing the world," said he hurriedly, like a man at a
confession, "not altogether with my father's wish, who would sooner I
stayed at home and farmed Drimlee; moving from garrison to garrison,
giving my mind no hearth to stay at for more than a night at a time, and
I've been missing the chance of my life. I went up the way there an hour
or two since--Young Islay, a soldier, coarse, ashamed of sentiment, and
now I go down anothe