d houses, one side in black shadow, the
other shining cold and pale in the moonlight. After a moment's
hesitation Macleod resumed his walk, though he seemed to tread more
softly.

And now, in the perfect silence, he neared a certain house, though but
little of it was visible over the wall and through the trees. Did he
expect to see a light in one of those upper windows, which the drooping
acacias did not altogether conceal. He walked quickly by, with his head
averted. Oscar had got a good way in front, not doubting that his master
was following him.

But Macleod, perhaps having mustered up further courage, stopped in his
walk, and returned. This time he passed more slowly, and turned his head
to the house, as if listening. There was no light in the windows; there
was no sound at all; there was no motion but that of the trembling
acacia leaves as the cold wind of the night stirred them. And then he
passed over to the south side of the thoroughfare, and stood in the
black shadow of a high wall; and Oscar came and looked up into his face.

A brougham rattled by; then there was utter stillness again; and the
moonlight shone on the front of the small house; which was to all
appearances as lifeless as the grave. Then, far away, twelve o'clock
struck, and the sound seemed distant as the sound of a bell at sea in
this intense quiet.

He was alone with the night, and with the dreams and fancies of the
night. Would he, then, confess to himself that which he would confess to
no other? Or was it merely some passing whim--some slight underchord of
sentiment struck amidst the careless joy of a young man's holiday--that
had led him up into the silent region of trees and moonlight? The scene
around him was romantic enough, but he certainly had not the features of
an anguish-stricken lover.

Again the silence of the night was broken by the rumbling of a cab that
came along the road; and now, whatever may have been the fancy that
brought him hither, he turned to leave, and Oscar joyfully bounded out
into the road. But the cab, instead of continuing its route, stopped at
the gate of the house he had been watching, and two young ladies stepped
out. Fionaghal, the Fair Stranger, had not, then, been wandering in the
enchanted land of dreams, but toiling home in a humble four-wheeler from
the scene of her anxious labors? He would have slunk away rapidly but
for an untoward accident. Oscar, ranging up and down, came upon an old
friend, a