in Mary's
Palace.'"

Last of all, the General lifted out a casket and laid it on his table.
Within it was a brooch, such as might once have been worn either by a
man or a woman; diamonds set in gold, and in the midst a lock of fair
hair.

"Is it really, father? . . ." And Kate took the jewel in her hand.

"Yes, the Prince's hair--his wedding present to Sheena Macpherson."

Kate kissed it fervently, and passed it to Janet, who placed it
carefully in the box, while the General made believe to laugh.

"Your mother wore the brooch on great occasions, and you will do the
same, Kit, for auld lang syne. There are two or three families left in
Perthshire that will like to see it on your breast."

"Yes, and there will maybe be more than two or three that will like to
see the lady that wears it." This from Janet.

"Your compliments are a little late, and you may keep them to yourself,
Janet; it would have been kinder to tell me. . . ."

"Tell you what?" And the General looked very provoking.

"I hate to be beaten." Kate first looked angry, and then laughed.
"What else is there to see?"

"There is the gallery, which is the one feature in our poor house, and
we will try to reach it from the Duke's hiding-place, for it was a
cleverly designed hole, and had its stair up as well as down." And
then they all came out into one of the strangest rooms you could find
in Scotland, and one that left a pleasant picture in their minds who
had seen it lit of a winter night, and the wood burning on the hearth,
and Kate dancing a reel with Lord Hay or some other brisk young man,
while the General looked on from one of the deep window recesses.

The gallery extended over the hall and Kate's drawing-room, and
measured fifty feet long from end to end. The upper part of the walls
was divided into compartments by an arcading, made of painted pilasters
and flat arches. Each compartment had a motto, and this was on one
side of the fireplace:

A nice wyfe and
A back doore
Oft maketh a rich
Man poore.

And on the other:--

Give liberalye
To neidfvl folke
Denye nane of
Them al for litle
Thow knawest heir
In this lyfe of what
Chaunce may the
Befall.

The glory of the gallery, however, was its ceiling, which was of the
seventeenth century work, and so wonderful that many learned persons
used to come and study it. After the great disaster when the Lodge was
sold and allowed to fall to pieces,