great beauty a blind man could
see; but that's the least of her, for she has the heart and the
principles of the purest and the best. But, oh, laddie, in her dealings
with men she has the knowledge of the deil himself. Mayhap she'll cry a
bit, or flout the duke, or laugh at his ways. She'll do the thing which
she finds his mood and the hour suit, and she'll come away with the
pardon in her hand, and say ever after that the duke is maligned and
that at heart he is a very good man. And she'll believe it, too."

Dinner without Nancy was a tasteless affair, and we spent little time
at table, having the pipes and wine brought into the library. As we sat
there the sound of Jamie's violin came sobbing up from the Burnside as
he played for his stricken sister in the old low house where three
hearts were praying for Nancy Stair. Sitting there with a silence, save
for the music, between us, we heard a door open on the floor above and
the sound of light footsteps on the stair. She came to the doorway,
looked in to see if we were alone, and then, with neither shyness nor
self-consciousness, came in to "show us how she looked."

"I've put on my best frock--the one the girls made for me on the
burn--in the lace work," she said.

It was cobwebby stuff over white satin, the neck, cut in the free
fashion of the time, showing her dimpled shoulders and the turn of the
breast. She had dressed her hair in a bunch of curls, high on the head,
and over her forehead she wore the circlet of diamonds which my
great-grandfather had given to that French ancestress of ours with the
uncommendable but frank conduct. Around her neck was the famous
necklace of diamonds and emeralds, and at the bosom a cluster of
diamonds winked and twinkled at every breath. She stood for one minute
near me, her eyes like misty gray stars shining over the bloom of
roses, her slender arms bared, and one slight hand, shining with rings,
laid on the table.

"Do I look pretty, Jock?" she said, as I raised the little hand to my
lips and kissed it, with what a passion of love only he can know whose
nature is a tempestuous loving one like mine, and whose only daughter
is his sweetheart and his wife.

"Well," she said, satisfied with my expressions, "the coach is at the
door," and then, holding out her hand to Danvers, "Will ye not wish me
luck, Mr. Carmichael?"

Danvers Carmichael had spoken no word and made no sign since her
entrance until he was thus directly addressed