rably excited by these unexpected and, to him, stirring sights,
Barret pushed steadily upward, and soon reached a part of the pass
whence he could see the valley beyond, with a house in the far
distance--which, of course, must be Kinlossie--standing in a clump of
wood on the margin of an inlet of the sea, known by the name of Loch
Lossie.

But a far more astonishing sight than anything he had beheld that
morning was yet in store for Barret. On turning round a projecting rock
at the foot of the Eagle Cliff, he suddenly came upon a young girl,
lying on the road as if dead!

Springing towards her, he knelt and raised her head. There was no blood
upon the face, which was deadly pale, and no apparent injury. She did
not seem to breathe, but on feeling her pulse he fancied that he felt a
flutter there. A feeling of desperate regret passed through him as he
thought of his utter destitution alike of medical or surgical knowledge.
But Barret was not by any means a helpless man. Running to one of the
many streams of water which trickled from the cliff, he filled the top
of his wideawake therewith, and, returning, laved the girl's face, and
poured a little into her mouth.

His efforts were successful. She recovered consciousness, opened her
eyes, and asked, with a confused look, what was the matter.

"You must have had a fall, dear child; but you'll be better presently.
Let me raise you."

The girl tried to rise, but, with a sharp cry of pain, fell back again
unconscious.

Barret soon ascertained that one of the poor girl's arms was severely
bruised, perhaps broken. He knew not what to do, but he knew that the
greatest present evil was delay. He therefore wrapped her in the
shepherd's plaid which she wore, and raised her as gently as possible in
his arms--making use of the plaid as a sort of sling, with part of it
round his own neck. Then, thanking God for the strong limbs and muscles
with which he had been endowed, he set off with vigorous tread for
Kinlossie House.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE FAMILY AT KINLOSSIE.

Serenity was the prevailing feature in the character of old Allan
Gordon, the laird of Kinlossie; but when that amiable, portly, grand,
silver-headed old gentleman suddenly met an unknown young man of fine
proportions carrying his favourite niece, wrapped up as a bundle in his
arms, all his serenity disappeared, and he stared, glared, almost
gasped, with mingled astonishment and consternation.

A ver