In her heart at times fear and pity for the latter struggled with passionate resentment at Lord Cadbury as a schemer who had separated her from her lover. Her father's worldliness was, perhaps, far more a matter of habit and education than nature. He was, however, now like most men of rank--Scottish men of rank, more than any in Europe--selfish to the heart's core; sorry we are to write it, but the history of the past has too often proved this to be the case. 'That is the old castle of Boulogne, Miss Cheyne,' said Tom Llanyard, drawing near her, and finding it impossible not to say something; 'and now we can make out the arched gateways in the ramparts.' 'I have been there,' replied Alison, 'and know the place well--the Hôtel de Ville, the Palais de Justice, and all the pretty promenades.' Indeed, she knew the place rather too well, as her father had been compelled to retire there more than once, from motives of prudence and economy. 'Where are we sailing to?' she asked, after a pause. 'I scarcely know, Miss Cheyne; Lord Cadbury's orders are that we are to hug the coast of France and keep under easy sail. I thought, perhaps, you might know,' he added. 'No, I know nothing,' she answered, wearily. 'Surely it can't be that this mere girl is about to chuck herself away on a brute like Cadbury!' thought Tom, as he looked with sympathy on her blanched face and quivering lip. 'Thank you--you are very kind to me,' said Alison, as he readjusted the rugs and wraps about her. 'Kind to you!' ejaculated Tom--'who on earth or sea either would not be kind to you!' Alison smiled at his blunt energy, and she rather clung to the society of this good, cheery, honest fellow, and felt, when with or near him, a sense of protection. 'It is evident that Cadbury is up to some game,' thought Tom; 'but it is the way of the world--the world in which these people live. Her youth and beauty, poor girl, will be his; his rank and money, the old bloater, will be hers--so the odds are evens, and they are quits.' In the vexation this reflection gave him Tom took off his naval cap and passed a hand over his forehead. As he did so, Alison for the first time remarked that a deep red scar traversed it from the right temple to the left eyebrow. 'You must at some time have met with a terrible accident, Captain Llanyard,' said she, sympathetically; 'what a pity that wound is in your forehead!' 'I thank you, Miss Cheyne, for the interest it gives me in your eyes. I was in the Queen's service when I got that wound, and nearly lost the number of my mess thereby. Shall I tell you about it?' 'If you please.'