'Dulcie _here_--d--nation!' thought Shafto: 'first old Madelon Galbraith and now Dulcie; by Jove the plot is thickening--the links may be closing!' He had an awful fear and presentiment of discovery; thus perspiration stood like bead-drops on his brow; yet the mystery of her presence was very simple. Poor Mrs. Prim could stand no longer the cold treatment and the 'whim-whams,' as she called them, of Lady Fettercairn; she had gone away, and it was known at Craigengowan that a substitute--a more pleasing one, in the person of a young English girl--was coming as companion, through the instrumentality of the Rev. Mr. Pentreath. Shafto had been absent in Edinburgh when this arrangement was made. Lady Fettercairn had thought the matter too petty, too trivial, to mention in any of her letters to her 'grandson;' Dulcie knew not where Shafto was, and thus the poor girl had come unwittingly to Craigengowan, and into the very jaws of that artful schemer! Few at the first glance might have recognised in Dulcie the bright, brilliant little girl whom Florian loved and Shafto had insulted by his so-called passion. The character of her face and perhaps of herself were somewhat changed since her affectionate father's death, and Florian's departure to Africa in a position so humble and hopeless. The bright hair which used to ripple in a most becoming and curly fringe over her pretty white forehead had to be abandoned for braiding, as Lady Fettercairn did not approve of a 'dependant' dressing her hair in what she deemed a fast fashion, though sanctioned by Royalty; and now it was simply shed back over each shell-like ear without a ripple if possible, but Dulcie's hair always would ripple somehow. 'Shafto,' said Dulcie, in a tone of deep reproach; 'what have you done with Florian? But I need not ask.' 'By the locket you wear, you must have seen or heard from him since he and I parted,' replied Shafto, with the coolest effrontery; 'so what has he done with himself?' 'I should ask that of you.' 'Of me!' 'Yes--why is he not here?' 'Why the deuce should he be _here_?' was the rough response. 'He is your cousin, is he not?' 'Yes: we are full cousins certainly,' admitted Shafto with charming frankness. 'Nothing more?' 'What the devil more should we be?' asked Shafto, coarsely, annoyed by her questions. 'Friends--you were almost brothers once--in the dear old Major's time.' 'We are not enemies; he chose some way to fortune, I suppose, when Fate gave me mine.' 'And you know not where he is?' 'No.' 'Nor what he has done with himself?' 'No--no--I tell you no!' exclaimed Shafto, maddened with annoyance by these persistent questions and her tearful interest in her lover. 'Poor Florian!' said the girl, sadly and sweetly, 'he has become a soldier, and is now in Zululand.' Shafto certainly started at this intelligence. 'In Zululand,' he chuckled; '_he_ too there! Well, beggars can't be choosers, so he chose to take the Queen's shilling.'