thought that you have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour."

"Well, sir," said M'Intyre, with much composure.

"Well, sir," echoed his uncle--"Deuce take the fellow! he answers me as
if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, that he, a captain
in the army, and nothing at all besides, should marry the daughter of a
baronet."

"I presume to think, sir," said the young Highlander, "there would be no
degradation on Miss Wardour's part in point of family."

"O, Heaven forbid we should come on that topic!--No, no, equal both--both
on the table-land of gentility, and qualified to look down on every
roturier in Scotland."

"And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since neither of us have
got any," continued Hector. "There may be an error, but I cannot plead
guilty to presumption."

"But here lies the error, then, if you call it so," replied his uncle:
"she won't have you, Hector."

"Indeed, sir?"

"It is very sure, Hector; and to make it double sure, I must inform you
that she likes another man. She misunderstood some words I once said to
her, and I have since been able to guess at the interpretation she put
on them. At the time I was unable to account for her hesitation and
blushing; but, my poor Hector, I now understand them as a death-signal
to your hopes and pretensions. So I advise you to beat your retreat
and draw off your forces as well as you can, for the fort is too well
garrisoned for you to storm it."

"I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle," said Hector, holding
himself very upright, and marching with a sort of dogged and offended
solemnity; "no man needs to retreat that has never advanced. There are
women in Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family"--

"And better taste," said his uncle; "doubtless there are, Hector; and
though I cannot say but that she is one of the most accomplished as well
as sensible girls I have seen, yet I doubt, much of her merit would be
cast away on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers above
her noddle--one green, one blue; who would wear a riding-habit of the
regimental complexion, drive a gig one day, and the next review the
regiment on the grey trotting pony which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat
in votis;--these are the qualities that would subdue you, especially if
she had a taste for natural history, and loved a specimen of a phoca."

"It's a little hard, sir," said Hector, "I must have that cursed seal
thrown into my face on all occ