banquet-table, Macleod leading in the prim old dame who had placed her
house at his disposal. There was a blaze of light and color in this
spacious marquee. Bands of scarlet took the place of oaken rafters;
there were huge blocks of ice on the table, each set in a miniature lake
that was filled with white water-lilies; there were masses of flowers
and fruit from one end to the other; and by the side of each _menu_ lay
a tiny nosegay, in the centre of which was a sprig of bell-heather. This
last was a notion of Macleod's amiable hostess; she had made up those
miniature bouquets herself. But she had been forestalled in the pretty
compliment. Macleod had not seen much of Miss Gertrude White in the cold
twilight outside. Now, in this blaze of yellow light, he turned his eyes
to her, as she sat there demurely flirting with an old admiral of
ninety-two, who was one of Macleod's special friends. And what was that
flower she wore in her bosom--the sole piece of color in the costume of
white? That was no sprig of blood-red bell-heather, but a bit of real
heather--of the common ling; and it was set amidst a few leaves of
juniper. Now, the juniper is the badge of the Clan Macleod. She wore it
next her heart.

There was laughter, and wine, and merry talking.

"Last May a braw wooer,"

the band played now; but they scarcely listened.

"Where is your piper, Sir Keith?" said Lady Beauregard.

"At this moment," said he, "I should not wonder if he was down at the
shore, waiting for me."