'Oh, I do not fear the snow,' said Mary; 'I have been up on the summit of yonder hill when it was covered deep with snow,' she added, pointing to a spur of the Ochils, while her eyes kindled, for under the shadow of those mountains she was born; 'but I was only a child then.' 'And what object took you up at such a time, may I ask?' 'To save a wee pet lamb, that else must have perished in the snow.' 'And did you carry it down?' 'Yes--of course.' 'By Jove!' exclaimed the Guardsman, twirling his moustache. 'We call that place Crow Court,' said Mary. 'Why?' he asked. 'Because sometimes in summer the crows collect there in such numbers that the green hillside is blackened with them, as if they had all been summoned for the occasion; and sometimes they have been known to wait for a day or two while other crows were winging their way hither from every quarter of the sky. Then a great clamour and noise ensue among them, and the whole will fall upon one or two crows that have been guilty of something, and after picking and rending them to death they disperse in flights as they came.' The Guardsman knew not what to make of this bit of natural history, and could only stroke his moustache again. Something in this girl's sweet but determined profile--something in the freshness of her character, and her slightly grave manner, as that of one already accustomed, but gently, to rule others, had a strange charm for Leslie Colville--for such was his name--though he was evidently a man accustomed to the ways of West-End belles and Belgravian mammas. Yet this girl never flattered him even by a smile, and her violet-blue eyes met his keen dark hazel ones as calmly as if their sexes were reversed, while her whole manner had the provoking indifference and the conscious air of self-possession which can only be acquired in the best society; and yet, to his very critical eye, her costume was rather unsuited to the atmosphere of Regent Street and Tyburnia, being extremely plain, and destitute of every accessory in the way of brooch, bracelet, ring, or even the inevitable bow. To him it seemed quite refreshing to talk to a girl who, with all her loveliness, evidently seemed not to know how to flirt or even think about it. 'I must now bid you good-morning,' said Mary, on reaching a hedge-bordered path that led to her home. 'What is the name of that house so charmingly embosomed among birches?' he asked. 'Birkwoodbrae.' 'Birkwoodbrae--indeed!' he repeated, with a start that Mary detected, but believed it to be simulated, and felt somewhat offended in consequence. 'The name seems to interest you,' said she, coldly, almost with hauteur. 'Do you reside there?' he asked, while regarding her so curiously that Mary felt her natural colour deepen. 'Yes, and have done so since my father's death,' and, bowing again, she quickly withdrew, while he, with hat in hand, looked after her.