any
such feeling, and with congratulations to Cameron upon his exceptionally
good luck in the expectation of going to Canada; but to-day, somehow it
was different. He found the splendid lure of his native land availed not
to break the spell of the Glen, and as he followed the girl in and out
of the little cottages, seeking her brother, and as he noted the perfect
courtesy and respect which marked her manner with the people, and their
unstudied and respectful devotion to their "tear young leddy," this
spell deepened upon him. Unconsciously and dimly he became aware of a
mysterious and mighty power somehow and somewhere in the Glen straining
at the heart-strings of its children. Of the nature and origin of this
mysterious and mighty power, the young Canadian knew little. His
country was of too recent an origin for mystery, and its people too
heterogeneous in their ethnic characteristics to furnish a soil for
tribal instincts and passions. The passionate loves and hatreds of the
clans, their pride of race, their deathless lealty; and more than all,
and better than all, their religious instincts, faiths and prejudices;
these, with the mystic, wild loveliness of heather-clad hill and
rock-rimmed loch, of roaring torrent and jagged crags, of lonely muir
and sunny pasture nuiks; all these, and ten thousand nameless and
unnamable things united in the weaving of the spell of the Glen upon the
hearts of its people. Of how it all came to be, Martin knew nothing,
but like an atmosphere it stole in upon him, and he came to vaguely
understand something of what it meant to be a Highlander, and to bid
farewell to the land into whose grim soil his life roots had struck
deep, and to tear himself from hearts whose life stream and his had
flowed as one for a score of generations. So from cot to cot Martin
followed and observed, until they came to the crossing where the broad
path led up from the highroad to the kirkyard and the kirk. Here they
were halted by a young man somewhat older than Martin. Tall and gaunt
he stood. His face, pale and pock-marked and lit by light blue eyes, and
crowned by brilliant red hair, was, with all its unloveliness, a face of
a certain rugged beauty; while his manner and bearing showed the native
courtesy of a Highland gentleman.

"You are seeking Mr. Allan?" he said, taking off his bonnet to the girl.
"He is in yonder," waving his hand towards the kirkyard.

"In yonder? You are sure, Mr. Maclise?" She might