invasion of England by the
Highland army. Presently I asked him what he thought of the Prince now
that he had been given a chance to study the Young Chevalier at closer
range, and I shall never forget the eager Highlander's enthusiastic
answer.

"From the head to the heel of him he is a son of Kings, kind-hearted,
gallant, modest. He takes all hearts by storm. Our Highland laddie is the
bravest man I ever saw, not to be rash, and the most cautious, not to be a
coward. But you will be judging for yourself when you are presented at the
ball on Tuesday."

I told him that as yet I had no invitation to the ball.

"That's easy seen to. The Chevalier O'Sullivan makes out the list. I'll
drop a flea in his lug (ear)."

Next day was Sunday, and I arrayed myself with great care to attend the
church at which one Macvicar preached; to be frank I didn't care a flip of
my fingers what the doctrine was he preached; but I had adroitly wormed
out of Miss MacBean that he was the pastor under whom she sat. Creagh
called on me before I had set out, and I dragged him with me, he
protesting much at my unwonted devotion.

I dare say he understood it better when he saw my eyes glued to the pew
where Miss Aileen sat with her aunt in devout attention. What the sermon
was to have been about we never knew, on account of an interruption which
prevented us from hearing it. During the long prayer I was comfortably
watching the back of Aileen's head and the quarter profile of her face
when Creagh nudged me. I turned to find him looking at me out of a very
comical face, and this was the reason for it. The hardy Macvicar was
praying for the Hanoverians and their cause.

"Bless the King," he was saying boldly. "Thou knows what King I mean-- May
the crown sit easy on his head for lang. And for the young man that is
come among us to seek an earthly crown, we beseech Thee in mercy to take
him to Thyself, and give him a crown of glory."

One could have heard a pin fall in the hush, and then the tense rustle
that swept over the church and drowned the steady low voice that never
faltered in the prayer.

"Egad, there's a hit for the Prince straight from the shoulder," chuckled
the Irishman by my side. "Faith, the Jacks are leaving the church to the
Whigs. There goes the Major, Miss Macleod, and her aunt."

He was right. The prayer had ended and the Macleod party were sailing down
the aisle. Others followed suit, and presently we joined the stream that