had never seen before, climbing the
mighty rocks, and listening to the thunder of the cataracts, among
which he often slept, with only one faithful follower to guard him. The
story of his escape is almost incredible, but he laughed and drank and
rolled upon the grass when he was free from care. He hobnobbed with the
most suspicious-looking caterans, with whom he drank the smoky brew of
the North, and lived as he might on fish and onions and bacon and wild
fowl, with an appetite such as he had never known at the luxurious
court of Versailles or St.-Germain.

After the battle of Culloden the prince would have been captured had
not a Scottish girl named Flora Macdonald met him, caused him to be
dressed in the clothes of her waiting-maid, and thus got him off to the
Isle of Skye.

There for a time it was impossible to follow him; and there the two
lived almost alone together. Such a proximity could not fail to stir
the romantic feeling of one who was both a youth and a prince. On the
other hand, no thought of love-making seems to have entered Flora's
mind. If, however, we read Campbell's narrative very closely we can see
that Prince Charles made every advance consistent with a delicate
remembrance of her sex and services.

It seems to have been his thought that if she cared for him, then the
two might well love; and he gave her every chance to show him favor.
The youth of twenty-five and the girl of twenty-four roamed together in
the long, tufted grass or lay in the sunshine and looked out over the
sea. The prince would rest his head in her lap, and she would tumble
his golden hair with her slender fingers and sometimes clip off tresses
which she preserved to give to friends of hers as love-locks. But to
the last he was either too high or too low for her, according to her
own modest thought. He was a royal prince, the heir to a throne, or
else he was a boy with whom she might play quite fancy-free. A lover he
could not be--so pure and beautiful was her thought of him.

These were perhaps the most delightful days of all his life, as they
were a beautiful memory in hers. In time he returned to France and
resumed his place amid the intrigues that surrounded that other Stuart
prince who styled himself James III., and still kept up the appearance
of a king in exile. As he watched the artifice and the plotting of
these make-believe courtiers he may well have thought of his innocent
companion of the Highland wilds.

As for