Miss
Honnor Cunyngham should see for herself that he, a mere singer out of
comedy-opera, was not afraid to face the hardships that had proved too
much for Lord Rockminster--yes, and that he had faced them to some
purpose.

Very friendly sounded the voice of the Geinig, when it first struck upon
his ear; they were getting into a recognizable neighborhood now; here
were familiar features--not a waste of the awful and unknown. But it was
too much to expect that Miss Cunyngham should still be lingering by any
of those pools; the evening was closing in; she must have set out for
home long ago, fishing her way down as she went. They passed a
shepherd's solitary cottage; the old man came out to hear the
news--which was told him in Gaelic. They reached the banks of the
Aivron, and trudged along under the tall cliffs and through the
scattered birch and hazel. Then came the fording of the river--the tramp
along the other side--the return ford--and the small home-going party
was reunited again. They skirted the glassy sweeps of the Long Pool, the
darker swirls of the Small Pool, and the saffron-tinted masses of foam
hurling down between the borders of the Rock Pool; and then at last they
came in view of the spacious valley, and far away in the midst of it
Strathaivron Lodge.

Had they been coming back with bad news this might have been rather a
melancholy sight, perhaps--the long, wide strath with the wan shades of
twilight stealing over the meadows and the woods and the winding river;
but now (to Lionel at least) it was nothing but beautiful. If the glen
itself looked ghostly and lifeless and colorless, there were warmer hues
overhead; for a pale salmon-flush still suffused the sky; and where that
half-crimson glow, just over the dark, heather-stained hill, faded into
an exquisite transparent lilac, there hung a full moon--a moon of the
lightest and clearest gold, with its mysterious continents appearing as
faint gray films. The prevailing peace seemed to grow more profound with
the coming of the night. But this was not a night to be feared--this was
a night to be welcomed--a night with that fair golden moon hanging high
in the heavens, the mistress and guardian of the silent vale.

When Lionel rode up to the door of the lodge, he found all the gentlemen
of the house congregated there and dressed for dinner. Sir Hugh held up
his hand.

"No, not one word!" he cried. "Not necessary. I can always tell. It is
written in every li