The party next day at the Hall was a very gay affair, and never did General Grant Mackenzie seem in better spirits, nor Gerty and Flora look more bewitching or feel more happy. Mr. Keane, too, unbent himself, and was far less crisp and frigid than any one had ever seen him. Keane did not perhaps look a bit more happy than he felt, though he would not have told his thoughts to any one, as he wandered to and fro in the grand old beautifully-lighted rooms or out into the spacious gardens and flower-laden conservatories. Everything had of late years conspired to play into his hands. He had amassed money; he had spent but little. Gerty was good, _so_ good, for she had promised to marry Sir Digby--promised her father, that is; the other promise would come. Then this splendid hall was _his_--Keane's--unless in a short time the easy-minded, happy-go-lucky general managed to clear his feet. "Clear his feet, indeed!" thought Keane; "how could he? No; the place would be his. Then he could hold up his head in the county. And as for Sir Digby, why, he could be easily managed after marriage. He was a trifle wild, he had been told, but he believed he was wealthy, and he would--some day--be a lord." Every one loved the general and his beautiful but unassuming daughter. There was no word of her being engaged to any one as yet, though such an engagement might take place at any time. She was indeed a queenly girl. Now suitors are usually a little afraid of queenly girls--not that there are very many about, but though they may dispense their favours in kind words and smiles, they do not flirt, and though warm-hearted deep down in their soul-depths, there is no surface love to squander or to be ruffled with every breath that blows. Such girls as Flora Grant Mackenzie love but once, and that love is real and true. Flora's prince would doubtless come. _She_ was in no hurry. But the girl was very happy on this her brother's birthday, and after all the guests had gone she spent the usual quiet half-hour with her father in his room in loving chat and converse, just as she had done every night since, long, long ago, her mother had died. "Good-night, dear," he said as he kissed her. "Affairs are not quite so flourishing with me as I would like; but we'll trust in Providence, won't we? Things are sure to take a turn." "Yes, dear father. Good-night: God bless you!" * * * * * Many of the wounded, both among our own people and the French prisoners on board the _Ocean Pride_, died and were buried as the ship sailed on; but the strength of Jack's Highland constitution asserted itself, and he was at last pronounced by M'Hearty to be out of danger, very much to Tom Fairlie's delight. His wounds had been very grievous--a sabre-cut on the skull and a spent bullet that had injured his left arm.