No one was ever bored at the Duchess of Athol’s brilliant “at homes.” One always felt sure of meeting at least three or four justly celebrated personages under her hospitable roof. And to-night society was a-gog, for it was to welcome the farmer-poet, Robert Burns, who had returned from his triumphant tour through the Highlands. Soon the capacious drawing-rooms were crowded. There was the rustle of silk and satin, rare and delicate perfumes shaken out of lace kerchiefs, while the heavy scent of the many bouquets oppressed the warm air to the point of suffocation. There was an interminably monotonous murmur of voices, only broken at rare intervals by a ripple of mild laughter. Over by the large windows that overlooked the terrace stood a group of people gazing earnestly out beyond the gardens at some object, which had arrested their attention, with various degrees of interest. “Whatever is happening below on Princes Street?” suddenly inquired one of the ladies, nervously clutching the arm of the man nearest her. Eppy McKay was an eccentric maiden lady of questionable age and taste. Of more than ordinary height naturally, she looked a giantess in her powdered wig, which towered fully a foot in the air, and which was decorated profusely with waving plumes, rosettes and jewels. Her lowcut gown of crimson satin, over a petticoat of quilted green silk, was cut extremely low, revealing a vision of skin and bones, powdered to a ghastly whiteness. Her affectations, her simperings, and her poses accorded society much amusement, of which fact she was blissfully unconscious. “There is a crowd gathered around a carriage, but farther than that I cannot make out,” replied Mr. Mackenzie, the famous author and publisher. A prolonged shout from below increased the restlessness of the timid Eppy. “Oh, dear!” she gasped. “If it should be an uprising of the Jacobites,” and she looked fearfully into the amused faces of her companions. With a disgusted grunt, Sir William Creech shook his arm free from her clawlike clutch. “Nonsense, woman, ye’re daft!” he answered impatiently. “Well, upon my word!” she murmured in injured surprise. “The mob is increasing—’tis coming nearer!” exclaimed Mr. Mackenzie, stepping out upon the wide balcony. “So it is,” affirmed Eppy, retreating behind the heavy curtains. “Lady Glencairn!” she called as her ladyship approached the window. “Listen to those murmurs! Oh, dear! it makes me so nervous.” Lady Glencairn stepped out upon the balcony, followed by the timid Eppy, and stood contemplating the scene in the brightly lighted street below them. “It sounds not ominous,” she said quietly, after a moment. “Lud, what a throng! They have unhitched the horses from a carriage, and are themselves drawing it hither.” “Who is in the carriage, can you see?” eagerly asked Eppy, straining her eyes.