rrying to the king, and submitting to him the
proofs of his protege's imprudence. They gained their end, for the
next time the Earl came into the royal presence, the King said to him
in a sad but firm voice, "Lumley, you have lost a friend, and I a good
servant." This was a bitter shock to the Earl, for he learnt now for
the first time that she in whom he had reposed his love and faith had
been his worst enemy, and that, as far as his relations to the King
were concerned, he was disgraced as a man of honour in his estimation.
With his proud and haughty spirit, unable to bear the misery and
chagrin of his fall and ruin, he had recourse to the suicide's escape
from trouble--he shot himself.

But another secret, no less tragic and of a far more sensational
nature, related to a certain Mr. Macfarlane. One Sunday, in the autumn
of the year 1719, Sir John Swinton, of Swinton, in Berwickshire, left
his little daughter Margaret, who had been indisposed through a
childish ailment, at home when he went with the rest of his family to
church, taking care to lock the outer door. After the lapse of an hour
or so, the child had become dull through being alone, and she made her
way into the parlour below stairs, where, on her arrival, she hastily
bolted the door to keep out any ghost or bogie, stories relating to
which had oftentimes excited her fears. But great was her terror when,
on looking round, she was confronted by a tall lady, gracefully
attired, and possessed of remarkable handsome features. The poor child
stood motionless with terror, afraid to go forwards or backwards. Her
throbbing heart, however, quickly recovered from its fright, as the
mysterious lady, with a kind eye and sweet smile, addressed her by
name, and taking her hand, spoke:

"Margaret, you may tell your mother what you have seen, but, for your
life, to no one else. If you do, much evil may come of it, some of
which will fall on yourself. You are young, but you must promise to
be silent as the grave itself in this matter."

Full of childish wonderment, Margaret, half in shyness and half in
fear at being an agent in so strange a secret, turned her head towards
the window, but on turning round found the lady had disappeared,
although the door remained bolted. Her curiosity was now more than
before aroused, and she concluded that after all this lady must be one
of those fairies she had often read of in books; and it was whilst
pondering on what she had seen tha