th us in November and last month, but my heart
failed me. Can you love me a little, enough to say yes? I am not
clever, and I am afraid I shall never do anything to make you proud of
me, but you will have all my heart, and I 'll do my best to make you
happy.

I am, yours very sincerely,

HAY.

Carnegie could see Kate's face from his place, who was looking out of
the window with a kindly expression, and her father, who was of a
simple mind, and knew little of women, was encouraged by such visible
friendliness. He was about to go over, when her face changed. She
dropped the letter on the seat, and became very thoughtful, knitting
her brows and resting her chin on her hand. In a little, something
stung her--like a person recalling an injury--and she flushed with
anger, drumming with her fingers on the sill of the window. Then anger
gave place to sadness, as if she had resolved to do something that was
inevitable, but less than the best. Kate glanced in her father's
direction, and read Lord Hay's letter again; then she seemed to have
made up her mind.

"Father," as she joined him on the skin beneath those loyal Carnegies
on the wall, "there is Lord Hay's letter, and he is a . . . worthy
gentleman. Perhaps I did not give him so much encouragement as he
took, but that does not matter. This is a . . . serious decision, and
ought not to be made on the spur of the moment. Will you let the
messenger go with a note to say that an answer will be sent on Monday?
You might write to Lord Kilspindie."

She was still standing in the place when he returned, and had been
studying the proud, determined face of Black John's mother, who had not
spared her only son for the good cause.

"Did you ever hear of any Carnegie, dad, who married beneath her,
or . . . loved one on the other side?"

"Never," said her father. "Our women all married into loyal families
of their own rank, which is best for comfort; but why do you ask? Hay
is a . . ."

"Yes, I know; it was only . . . curiosity made me ask, and I suppose
some of our women must have made sacrifices for their . . . cause?"

"Far more than the men ever did, for, see you, a man is just shot, and
all is over, and before he falls he 's had some good fighting, but his
wife suffers all her days, when he is living and when he is dead. Yet
our women were the first to send their men to the field. Heavens! what
women do suffer--they ought to have their reward."

"They have