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, and instantly made acquaintance with her, on seeing which,
Macleod, with deep vexation at his heart, but with a pleasant and
careless face, had to walk along also.

"What an odd meeting!" said he. "I have been giving Oscar a run. I am
glad to have a chance of bidding you good-night. You are not very tired,
I hope."

"I am rather tired," said she; "but I have only two more nights, and
then my holiday begins."

He shook hands with both sisters, and wished them good-night, and
departed. As Miss Gertrude White went into her father's house she seemed