would be standing by the banks of Loch Coila, I would have
laughed in his face.

Yet so it was. Aunt and Donald stayed in London, while I and Dugald formed
the strange resolve of running down and having one farewell glance at
Coila. I seemed impelled to do so, but how or by what I never could say.

No; we did not go near Edinburgh. Good-byes had been said, why should we
rehearse again all the agony of parting?

Nor did we show ourselves to many of the villagers, and those who did see
us hardly knew us in our English dress.

Just one look at the lake, one glance at the old castle, and we should be
gone, never more to set foot in Coila.

And here we were close by the water, almost under shadow of our own old
home. It was a forenoon in the end of February, but already the
larch-trees were becoming tinged with tender green, a balmy air went
whispering through the drooping silver birches, the sky was blue, flecked
only here and there with fleecy clouds that cast shadow-patches on the
lake. Up yonder a lark was singing, in adjoining spruce thickets we could
hear the croodle of the ringdove, and in the swaying branches of the elms
the solemn-looking rooks were already building their nests. Dugald and I
were lying on the moss.

'Spring always comes early to dear Coila,' I was saying; 'and I'm so glad
the ship broke down, just to give me a chance of saying "Good-bye" to the
loch. You, Dugald, did say "Good-bye" to it, you know, but I never had a
chance.

Ahem! We were startled by the sound of a little cough right behind us--a
sort of made cough, such as people do when they want to attract
attention.

Standing near us was a gentleman of soldierly bearing, but certainly not
haughty in appearance, for he was smiling. He held a book in his hand, and
on his arm leant a beautiful young girl, evidently his daughter, for both
had blue eyes and fair hair.

Dugald and I had started to our feet, and for the life of me I could not
help feeling awkward.

'I fear,' I stammered, 'we are trespassing. But--but my brother and I ran
down from London to say good-bye to Coila. We will go at once.'

'Stay one moment,' said the gentleman. 'Do not run away without
explaining. You have been here before?'

'We are the young M'Crimmans of Coila, sir.'

I spoke sadly--I trust not fiercely.

'Pardon me, but something seemed to tell me you were. We are pleased to
meet you. Irene, my daughter. It is no fault of ours--at least, of
mine--that