There is no doubt that this tableau gained the success of the evening, and the participants in it should have modestly and gratefully received the choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offered during the supper and dance that followed. Instead of that, what happened? Francesca drove home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrille d'honneur, and when Willie bade me good night at the gate in the loaning, he said, “I shall not be early to-morrow, dear. I am going to see Macdonald off.” “Off!” I exclaimed. “Where is he going?” “Only to Edinburgh and London, to stay till the last of next week.” “But we may have left Pettybaw by that time.” “Of course; that is probably what he has in mind. But let me tell you this, Penelope: Macdonald is fathoms deep in love with Francesca, and if she trifles with him she shall know what I think of her!” “And let me tell you this, sir: Francesca is fathoms deep in love with Ronald Macdonald, little as you suspect it, and if he trifles with her he shall know what I think of him!” Chapter XXIV. Old songs and modern instances. 'He set her on a coal-black steed, Himself lap on behind her, An' he's awa' to the Hieland hills Whare her frien's they canna find her.' Rob Roy. The occupants of Bide-a-Wee Cottage awoke in anything but a Jubilee humour, next day. Willie had intended to come at nine, but of course did not appear. Francesca took her breakfast in bed, and came listlessly into the sitting-room at ten o'clock, looking like a ghost. Jean's ankle was much better--the sprain proved to be not even a strain--but her wrist was painful. It was drizzling, too, and we had promised Miss Ardmore and Miss Macrae to aid with the last Jubilee decorations, the distribution of medals at the church, and the children's games and tea on the links in the afternoon. We have determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for the metropolis on this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowk o' Fife who had grown to be a part of our lives. Bide-a-Wee Cottage does not occupy an imposing position in the landscape, and the choice of art fabrics at the Pettybaw draper's is small, but the moment it should stop raining we were intending to carry out a dazzling scheme of decoration that would proclaim our affectionate respect for the 'little lady in black' on her Diamond Jubilee. But would it stop raining?--that was the question. The draper wasna certain that so licht a shoo'r could richtly be called rain. The village weans were yearning for the hour to arrive when they might sit on the wet golf-course and have tea; manifestly, therefore, it could not be a bad day for Scotland; but if it should grow worse, what would become of our mammoth subscription bonfire on Pettybaw Law--the bonfire that Brenda Macrae was to light, as the lady of the manor?