avely. Young ladies in white, and mothers in
all the colours of the rainbow, were there in plenty, and, by Bessie's
special command, the scene was enlivened by the Highland uniform, with
the graceful tartan scarf fastened across the shoulder with the Bruce
brooch.

Rachel had not been long in the room before she was seized on by Emily
Grey, an enthusiastic young lady of the St. Norbert's neighbourhood,
whom she met seldom, but was supposed to know intimately.

"And they say you have the hero here--the Victoria Cross man--and that
you know him. You must show him to me, and get me introduced."

"There is no Victoria Cross man here," said Rachel, coldly. "Colonel
Keith did not have one."

"Oh, no, I don't mean Colonel Keith, but Captain Alexander Keith, quite
a young man. Oh, I am sure you remember the story--you were quite wild
about it--of his carrying the lighted shell out of the hospital tent;
and they told me he was always over here, and his sister staying with
Lady Temple."

"I know Captain Alexander Keith," said Rachel, slowly; "but you must be
mistaken, I am certain I should know if he had a Victoria Cross."

"It is very odd; Charlie told me it was the same," said Miss Grey, who,
like all others, was forced to bend to Rachel's decisive manner.

"Scottish names are very common," said Rachel, and at that moment a
partner came and carried Emily off.

But as Rachel stood still, an odd misgiving seized her, a certain doubt
whether upon the tall lazy figure that was leaning against a wall nearly
opposite to her, talking to another officer, she did not see something
suspiciously bronze and eight-pointed that all did not wear. There was
clearly a medal, though with fewer clasps than some owned; but what else
was there? She thought of the lecture on heroism she had given to him,
and felt hot all over. Behold, he was skirting the line of chaperons,
and making his way towards their party. The thing grew more visible, and
she felt more disconcerted than ever had been her lot before; but escape
there was none, here he was shaking hands.

"You don't polk?" he said to her. "In fact, you regard all this as a
delusion of weak minds. Then, will you come and have some tea?"

Rachel took his arm, still bewildered, and when standing before him with
the tea-cup in her hand, she interrupted something he was saying, she
knew not what, with, "That is not the Victoria Cross?"

"Then it is, like all the rest, a delusion," he answ