look strange in the gaunt hall of Castle Dare.

"Why," said he, "I will tell you a secret, Ogilvie. You know my cousin
Janet--she is the kindest-hearted of all the women I know--and when I
was coming away she gave me £2000, just in case I should need it."

"£2000!" exclaimed Ogilvie. "Did she think you were going to buy
Westminster Abbey during the course of your holidays?" And then he
looked at the table before him, and a new idea seemed to strike him.
"You don't mean to say, Macleod, that it is your cousin's money--"

Macleod's face flushed angrily. Had any other man made the suggestion,
he would have received a tolerably sharp answer. But he only said to his
old friend Ogilvie,--

"No, no, Ogilvie; we are not very rich folks; but we have not come to
that yet. 'I'd sell my kilts, I'd sell my shoon,' as the song says,
before I touched a farthing of Janet's money. But I had to take it from
her so as not to offend her. It is wonderful, the anxiety and affection
of women who live away out of the world like that. There was my mother,
quite sure that something awful was going to happen to me, merely
because I was going away for two or three months, And Janet--I suppose
she knew that our family never was very good at saving money--she would
have me take this little fortune of hers, just as if the old days were
come back, and the son of the house was supposed to go to Paris to
gamble away every penny."

"By the way, Macleod," said Ogilvie, "you have never gone to Paris, as
you intended."