d her delicate, sensitive ways, and her hand
that might be crushed like a rose leaf. There is a shimmer of summer
around her; flowers lie in her lap; tender observances encompass and
shelter her. Not for her the biting winds of the northern seas; but
rather the soft luxurious idleness of placid waters, and blue skies, and
shadowy shores ... _Rose Leaf! Rose Leaf! what faint wind will carry you
away to the south?_

CHAPTER VII.

THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.

Late one night a carefully dressed elderly gentleman applied his
latch-key to the door of a house in Bury Street, St. James's, and was
about to enter without any great circumspection, when he was suddenly
met by a white phantom, which threw him off his legs, and dashed outward
into the street. The language that the elderly gentleman used, as he
picked himself up, need not be repeated here. Suffice it to say that the
white phantom was the dog Oscar, who had been shut in a minute before by
his master, and who now, after one or two preliminary dashes up and down
the street, very soon perceived the tall figure of Macleod, and made
joyfully after him. But Oscar knew that he had acted wrongly, and was
ashamed to show himself; so he quietly slunk along at his master's
heels. The consequence of this was that the few loiterers about beheld
the very unusual spectacle of a tall young gentleman walking down Bury
Street and into King Street, dressed in full Highland costume, and
followed by a white-and-lemon collie. No other person going to the
Caledonian fancy-dress ball was so attended.

Macleod made his way through the carriages, crossed the Pavement, and
entered the passage. Then he heard some scuffling behind, and he turned.

"Let alone my dog, you fellow!" said he, making a step forward, for the
man had got hold of Oscar by the head, and was hauling him out.

"Is it your dog, sir?" said he.

Oscar himself answered by wrestling himself free and taking refuge by
his master's legs, though he still looked guilty.

"Yes, he is my dog; and a nice fix he has got me into," said Macleod,
standing aside to let the Empress Maria Theresa pass by in her
resplendent costume. "I suppose I must walk home with him again. Oscar,
Oscar, how dare you?"

"If you please, sir," said a juvenile voice behind him, "if Mr. ----
will let me, I will take the dog. I know where to tie him up."

Macleod turned.

"_Co an so?_" said he, looking down at the chubby-faced boy in the
kilts,