interested, botany being, as Mabberly said, his peculiar
weakness.

One morning--and a gloriously bright morning it was, such as induces one
to thank God for the gift of sunshine and the capacity of enjoying it--
John Barret sauntered down to the garden, after breakfast, to have a
quiet chat with his host. He had decided to remain at home that morning
for the purpose of writing a letter or two, intending in the afternoon
to follow up some of his companions, who had gone off to the hills.

Entering the conservatory, he found that the laird was not there; but,
in his usual rustic chair, there sat a beautiful girl, sound asleep,
with her fair cheek resting on her little hand, and her nut-brown hair
straggling luxuriantly over her shoulders.

Barret was spell-bound. He could not move for a few seconds. Surprise
may have had something to do with the sudden paralysis of his powers.
It may have been curiosity, possibly admiration, certainly some sort of
sensation that he could neither describe nor account for. He knew at a
glance who the girl was, though he had not seen her since the day of her
accident. Even if he had been so obtuse as not to know, the arm in a
sling would have revealed that it was Milly Moss who slumbered there;
yet he found it hard to believe that the neat little woman, with the
lovely, benignant countenance before him was in very truth the
dishevelled, dusty, scratched, and blood-sprinkled being whom he had
carried for several miles over the heather a short time before.

As we have said, Barret stood immovable, not knowing very well what to
do. Then it occurred to him that it was scarcely gallant or fair thus
to take advantage of a sleeping beauty. Staring at her was bad enough,
but to awake her would be still worse; so he turned slowly about, as a
cat turns when afraid of being pounced on by a glaring adversary. He
would retire on tiptoe as softly as possible, so as not to disturb her.
In carrying out this considerate intention, he swept a flower-pot off
its stand, which fell with a mighty crash upon the stone floor.

The poor youth clasped his hands, and glanced back over his shoulder in
horror. The startled Milly was gazing at him with mingled surprise and
alarm, which changed, however, into a flush and a look of restrained
laughter as she began to understand the situation.

"Never mind, Mr Barret," she said, rising, and coming forward with a
gracious manner. "It is only one of the commo