"Quite so, quite so!" returned the Reverend Ronald, who has had reason
to know that this phrase reduces Miss Monroe to voiceless rage.

"The Stuart charm and personal magnetism must have been a powerful
factor in all that movement," said Salemina, plunging hastily back
into the topic to avert any further recrimination. "I suppose we feel
it even now, and if I had been alive in 1745 I should probably have
made myself ridiculous. 'Old maiden ladies,' I read this morning,
'were the last leal Jacobites in Edinburgh; spinsterhood in its
loneliness remained ever true to Prince Charlie and the vanished
dreams of youth.'"

"Yes," continued the Dominie, "the story is told of the last of those
Jacobite ladies who never failed to close her Prayer-Book and stand
erect in silent protest when the prayer for 'King George III. and the
reigning family' was read by the congregation."

"Do you remember the prayer of the Reverend Neil McVicar in St.
Cuthbert's?" asked Mr. Macdonald. "It was in 1745, after the victory
at Prestonpans, when a message was sent to the Edinburgh ministers, in
the name of 'Charles, Prince Regent,' desiring them to open their
churches next day as usual. McVicar preached to a large congregation,
many of whom were armed Highlanders, and prayed for George II., and
also for Charles Edward, in the following fashion: 'Bless the king!
Thou knowest what king I mean. May the crown sit long upon his head!
As for that young man who has come among us to seek an earthly crown,
we beseech Thee to take him to Thyself and give him a crown of
glory!'"

"Ah, what a pity the Bonnie Prince had not died after his meteor
victory at Falkirk!" exclaimed Jean Dalziel, when we had finished
laughing at Mr. Macdonald's story.

"Or at Culloden, 'where, quenched in blood on the Muir of Drummossie,
the star of the Stuarts sank forever,'" quoted the Dominie. "There is
where his better self died; would that the young Chevalier had died
with it! By the way, doctor, we must not sit here eating goodies and
sipping tea until the dinner-hour, for these ladies have doubtless
much to do for their flitting" (a pretty Scots word for "moving").

"We are quite ready for our flitting so far as packing is concerned,"
Salemina assured him. "Would that we were as ready in spirit! Miss
Hamilton has even written her farewell poem, which I am sure she will
read for the asking."

"She will read it without that formality," murmured Francesca. "She
has lived