It may be guessed that the last hour of leisure I had in the city was spent with Aileen. Of that hour the greater part of it was worse than lost, for a thickheaded, long-legged oaf of an Ayrshire laird shared the room with us and hung to his chair with dogged persistency the while my imagination rioted in diverse forms of sudden death for him. Nor did it lessen my impatience to know that the girl was laughing in her sleeve at my restlessness. She took a malicious pleasure in drawing out her hobnailed admirer on the interesting subject of sheep-rot. At last, having tormented me to the limit of prudence, she got rid of him. To say truth, Miss Aileen had for weeks held me on the tenter-hooks of doubt, now in high hope, far more often in black despair. She had become very popular with the young men who had declared in favour of the exiled family, and I never called without finding some colour-splashed Gael or broad-tongued Lowland laird in dalliance. 'Twas impossible to get a word with her alone. Her admirers were forever shutting off the sunlight from me. Aileen was sewing on a white satin cockade, which the man from Ayrshire, in the intervals between the paragraphs of his lecture on the sheep industry, had been extremely solicitous of obtaining for a favour. 'Twas a satisfaction to me that my rustic friend departed without it. He was no sooner gone than I came near and perched myself on the arm of a chair beside the girl. For a minute I sat watching in silence the deft movements of the firm brown hands in which were both delicacy and power. Then, "For Malcolm?" I asked. "No-o." "For whom then?" "For a brave gentleman who iss marching south with the Prince--a kind friend of mine." "You seem to have many of them. For which one is the favour?" I queried, a little bitterly. She looked at me askance, demure yet whimsical. "You will can tell when you see him wearing it." I fell sulky, at the which mirth bubbled up in her. "Is he as good a friend as I am, this fine lover of yours?" I asked. "Every whit." Mockery of my sullenness danced in her blue eyes. "And do you--like him as well?" I blurted out, face flaming. She nodded yes, gaily, without the least sentiment in the world. I flung away in a pet. "You're always laughing at me. By Heaven, I won't be made a fool of by any girl!" The corners of her eyes puckered to fresh laughter. "Troth, and you needna fear, Kenneth. No girl will can do that for you." "Well then," I was beginning, half placated at the apparent flattery, but stopped with a sudden divination of her meaning. "You think me a fool already. Is that it?" "I wass thinking that maybe you werena showing the good gumption this day, Mr. Kenneth Montagu." My pride and my misery shook hands. I came back to blurt out in boyish fashion, "Let us not quarrel again to-day, Aileen, and--do not laugh at me these last few minutes. We march this afternoon. The order has been given out."