alm, still gloaming rose the
blackbird's notes of love, sounding half hysterical in the very fulness
of their happiness and joy.

General Mackenzie rose slowly from his chair, and approaching his son
placed a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Dear Jack," he said slowly, "we each have something left us, a name
that has never yet been tarnished; our clansmen have ever been found in
the battle's van, or

'In death laid low,
Their backs to the field, their feet to the foe.'

We have that name, Jack boy; we have that fame. We have our unsullied
swords. Jack lad, we _shall_ forget."

"Father, we shall try."

And hand met hand as eye met eye. The two had signed a compact, and
well they knew what that compact was.

* * * * *

Jack Mackenzie sat alone in his bedroom that night long after his father
and every guest had retired. The casement window was wide open, so that
the sweet breath of the June roses could steal in, and with it the weird
tremolo of a nightingale singing its love-lay in an adjoining copse. The
moonlight was everywhere, bathing the flower-beds, spiritualizing the
trees, lying on the grass like snow, and casting deep shadows from the
quaint figures of many a statue, and a deeper shadow still from the
mossy dial-stone.

So intent was Jack in his admiration of the solemn beauty of the scene,
that he saw not his chamber door slowly opening, nor noted the figure
robed from head to feet in white that entered and glided towards him.

Was it a spirit?

If so, it was a very beautiful one. The face was very white in the
moonbeams, the eyes very sad and dark, and darker still the wealth of
waving hair that floated over the shoulders.

"Jack!"

Jack started now, and looked quickly round. Then a happy smile spread
over his face as he arose and led his sister to a seat by his side.

"So like old, old times, Flora," he said.

"So like old, old times, Jack," said she.

He wrapped her knees in a great old Grant-tartan plaid.

"I knew you were still up, and that you were not happy, so I came to
you. But, Jack--"

"Yes, dear."

"Smoke."

"May I?"

"You must."

"Still more like olden times, Flora."

Jack lit up his pipe, and then he took his sister's hand.

"I'm glad," he said, "that I never had a brother."

"And I," she said, "am happy I never had a sister."

"We are all in all to each other, are we not, Flo?"

"All in all, Jack; es