out of her heart to her eyes with a keen pain,
and drop about without a moment's notice,
endangering the purity of the white satin, who,
watching her from a corner, could have found
fault with a sad seamstress, saying that it was
a wicked thing to shed tears over a bridal
dress? Who need speculate on those tears,
foolishly asking what they meant? When
sorrow was reigning from end to end of the
land, why pry into one simple heart looking for
secret sources of grief? Hester's tears, falling,
kept time with the falling of the tears of a
multitude. A few bitter drops more or less need
make no wonder. Let them flow, and be
swallowed up in the ocean of a nation's anguish.

The servants at the castle had taken to novel
ways of life, and no one had heart to check
them; even had any one had eyes to see that
the wheels of the household needed oil. If they
were seldom at their posts, there was no one to
observe it; if they stood about in groups half
the day with pale faces and red-rimmed eyes,
there was no one at hand to reprimand them.
If the meats came burnt to table and the
wrong wine was decanted, was there any one
with appetite to discover these mistakes? If
the rarest gem of the drawing-room were swept
down to the floor in fragments by a nervous
twirl of Bridget's tremulous duster, who cared?
The drawing-room was a desert. It might be
arranged or it might not be arranged. The
flowers in the vases might be dried up and
mouldering there, for nobody thought of looking
whether or not.

About sunset of that seventh glowing evening
of June, Sir Archie was walking up and down
his study floor. That long burning day had
passed like a nightmare over his head. He had
been abroad, and had looked upon the ominous
desolation of his glens. He knew where his
stalwart men were to be found, and he knew
what was the work on which their strong hands
had fastened.

A messenger came knocking upon the door
of Glenluce Castle, and, panting, pushed his
way into the presence of Sir Archie. He had
news. A battle had been fought at Antrim—
fought well by the rebels, but lost. Lord O'Neal
had been carried to his castle to die. There
had been another hard fight at Larne. A rumour
was on foot that Sir Archie Munro had been
declared to be a rebel; that Colonel Clavering
and his soldiers were marching towards the
glens to attack Glenluce Castle. The women
and children, the old men and the cripples, were
flying to Sir Archie for protection. Even now
they left their cottages with their babies and
their crutches. Even now they came breathless
down the hills and up the roads. Would Sir
Archie take them in under shelter of the castle
roof? Would Sir Archie shield the innocent
and weak?

"All that the castle will hold," said Sir
Archie. " Let them come. We can house a
good many, thank God! While there is space
for one there cannot be enough; so we have
elbow-room at the window to ply our guns."

He despatched a messenger to reassure the
people, and then Sir Archie made a review of
his position. Of able-bodied men he had only
a few servants. He shuddered to think of the
women of his family. Why had he not forced
them to leave the country long ago? Regrets
were idle now. His mother must be kept as
long as possible in ignorance of what was
impending. Thank God she was a willing prisoner
in her own retired room; The young girls
must be guarded. "I wonder," thought Sir
Archie, "if poor Madge will stand my friend?"
And he sent a message to the Honourable Madge.

The servant forgot her manners in her fright.
She burst open Miss Madge's door without
even the ceremony of a knock. Miss Madge
had spent this day shut up in her chamber
alone. Miss Madge! where was Miss Madge?
Some gay garments stirred in a dark corner of
the room. Miss Madge was on her knees, with
her face against the wall. When might one
pray if not now? Miss Madge had the soul of
a warrior, but she might not wear a sword.
Miss Madge had the heart of a lion, but the
battles must rage on without her presence or
her help. Miss Madge must give assistance,
else she would die of this suspense. So she
bent her knees on a hard floor, and turned her
face to a dark wall, and she battered the gates
of heaven with her prayers.

Miss Madge was on her feet in an instant,
cheerful and alert. Ere long she had got
instructions from Sir Archie, and was giving
orders about the castle as if for a festival. She
walked into Hester's room, where she found
Hester and Miss Janet sitting trembling side
by side; the unfinished bridal dress lying
between them.

"We are going to stand siege, my dears,"
said the Honourable Madge, briskly, quite as
if she had been saying, "We are going to give
a ball." "The servants are a little frightened,
naturally, and Lady Helen is not to know of it
at present. There is much to be seen to, many
arrangements to be made. Which of you is
strong enough to step about and help me?"

"I am ill, Miss Madge," said Janet; " I am
really ill." And she looked it. "I could not go
about with you. I believe I shall die of the fright.
I hope it may happen before they come up here
to kill me. At all events I shall wait here. I
could not go down and ask them to do it"

"I thought you were not a coward," said
Miss Madge, with some scorn.

"That was a boast—only a boast!" wailed
Miss Golden. "I did not think that war was
going to walk up to the castle gates. I am a
coward now I tell you. I am afraid. Oh, I
am afraid!"

And she curled herself upon a sofa, and buried
her blanched face in the cushions.

Miss Madge put her shoulder against the
couch and wheeled it into a corner, out of reach
of the window.

"What is this for?" asked Janet, pettishly.

"Only to be out of the way of bullets,"
answered the Honourable Madge, shortly.