cigars; he was not so inconveniently tall; he had
a better nose by rule than Mark Hatteraick; and
when he swore, it was quietly between his teeth.

After this I wore a little likeness of Luke
as a safeguard, and every day I studied it,
having first adjusted the rose-coloured
spectacles through which I intended to behold it.
In this way I left myself not the shadow of a
doubt that Luke's dark keen eyes and fine
pale features were a much better sight than
any tawny beard or any laughing eyes; and I
need not be at all afraid of this soldier off duty
in the magnificent good humour of his summer
holiday. So I told myself every day in the
sunshine of my chamber at Eldergowan, with
flowers in my breast, and the birds all singing
around me. I said it so often, that I found
myself too wise to require its so frequent
repetition. I left off examining Luke's likeness.

Mrs. Hattcraick had a slight illness through
which I nursed her; and in her convalescent
chamber I drew somehow nearer to Mark,
through her medium, I think; for I know she
loved me well. Sitting at his feet by her chair,
something went very far wrong within me. I
seemed to let go some staff with which I had
walked pretty straight till now. My life's boat,
sailing down a summer river, got into a
glamour of light that hindered my seeing; and I
drifted on in a golden dismay. Some agony
mingled with the sweetness of my unthinking
existence. I forgot that I was Luke's
promised wife; but he came to remind me of it.

It was one hot evening when we were all
gathered together under an awning on the
broad steps in front of the house, Mrs.
Hatteraick's invalid chair in the midst of our group.
Nell had her arms round my waist, and Polly
was on her uncle's knee. Nothing could be
more snug and good than that hour; nothing
could be more insanely joyous than I was.
At Polly's request, Uncle Mark told us
the story of a battle. He grew very grave,
as he always did before speaking of such
matters. He stared, smoking, awhile at the
distance of orange horizon and purpled wood;
and then a light came into his eye like the
gleam of a sword, and he began to talk.
Presently we held our breath, for we were in the
thick of the affray, and our attention was centred
on one solitary figure in which my excited
fancy discerned my brother Dick. Life was
particularly sweet to this young soldier; the
thought of home was tugging at his heart-
strings. His eye was on the foe, but it saw
also the anguished face of his already widowed
love; his ear was open to the word of
command, but it heard also weeping farewells and
blessings. How shall I describe this story,
which made us all sad? Everything sweet in
the world was striving to dim his steady glance,
and make a coward of him while he led on his
band to a forlorn hope and death in the moment
of victory. Ah, well! he was cut down. The
shout of triumph was snatched from his lips.
Then came the dying injunctions to the friend,
the moaning messages to her, and to her, and
to him. the struggle for resignation, and again
the pitiful yearning for the loved faces, the sad
groping in the dark for the touch of hands never
to be grasped again.

Oh the landscape faded away, the warm
clouds, the rich greeneries, the sleepy lake, and
the sun shone only on a red field of blood,
and my dying brother Dick. I slipped from
Nell's embrace, and hid myself in my room.
When had I wept before? The tears I shed
then washed the golden dust out of my eyes
that had blinded me all these weeks past,
and I saw myself as I was, untrue in my
heart to Luke Elphinstone. Much unusual
joy had turned my brain; a little natural grief
had restored me to my senses.

Great fear gave me courage, and I felt quite
strong when I returned slowly down the stairs.
The sun was shining through the oriel window
on the wide low landing above the hall, and
many colours were wandering blissfully about
this nook, which was a sort of a lingering place
for idle feet at all hours of the day. Many an
important question had been decided here, and
many a conversation held, one gossip leaning
against the carved corner of the banister, and
another sitting on the lowest step of the upper
stair. Here was Mark Hatteraick now,
waiting for me.

"I did not mean to be cruel, Mattie," he
said; "it is such a common story."

My courage shook under the fervent
contrition in his eyes. My heavy hand lay in his
clasp. I could see, from where I stood, the hall
and the open door framing a little bit of lawn
and golden sky. While I stood so, even as
Mark Hatteraick's fingers were closing round
mine, a figure appeared upon the threshold
below, and Luke Elphinstone's face came
between me and the light.

He had driven over from the Mill-house with
a commission from my father to fetch me home.
It was all quite natural and right, and he
brought news which ought to have given me
pleasure. Sylvia had arrived at last; my dead
brother's almost widow had come to pay her
long-promised visit to her almost sister.

I was completely sobered. I put on my
bonnet without a murmur, even to my own
heart. Major Hatteraick scanned the unwelcome
messenger coldly, and I shunned his
clouded eyes as I said my hasty good-bye.

"You will return, you will return!" they all
cried, hanging round me at the door. "You
must return," whispered Mark Hattcraick,
vehemently, as he crushed my hand in farewell;
but I said, "No, no," under my breath as I
drove away with Luke.

        Just published, in Three Volumes,
                     BLACK  SHEEP :
          A NOVEL   BY  EDMUND YATES.
    TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18,  Catherine-street.