Had they been coming back with bad news this might have been rather a melancholy sight, perhaps--the long, wide strath with the wan shades of twilight stealing over the meadows and the woods and the winding river; but now (to Lionel at least) it was nothing but beautiful. If the glen itself looked ghostly and lifeless and colorless, there were warmer hues overhead; for a pale salmon-flush still suffused the sky; and where that half-crimson glow, just over the dark, heather-stained hill, faded into an exquisite transparent lilac, there hung a full moon--a moon of the lightest and clearest gold, with its mysterious continents appearing as faint gray films. The prevailing peace seemed to grow more profound with the coming of the night. But this was not a night to be feared--this was a night to be welcomed--a night with that fair golden moon hanging high in the heavens, the mistress and guardian of the silent vale. When Lionel rode up to the door of the lodge, he found all the gentlemen of the house congregated there and dressed for dinner. Sir Hugh held up his hand. "No, not one word!" he cried. "Not necessary. I can always tell. It is written in every line of your face." "It isn't a hind, is it?" inquired Lord Rockminster, doubtfully. "A hind of ten points!" Lionel said, with a laugh, as he pushed his way through. "Well, I must see if I can have a hot bath to soften my bones." "My good fellow, it's waiting for you," his host said. "I told Jeffreys the moment I saw you coming down the strath. We'll put back dinner a bit; but be as quick as you can." At the same moment there appeared a white-draped figure on the landing above, leaning over the balustrade. "What have you done, Mr. Moore?" called down the well-known voice of Honnor Cunyngham. "I've got a stag," he said, looking up with a good deal of satisfaction--or gratitude, perhaps?--in his eyes. "How many points?" "Ten." "Well done! Didn't I tell you you would get a stag?" "It's all owing to the lucky sixpence you gave me," he said; and she laughed, as she turned away to go to her room. After a welcome bath he dressed as quickly as he could for dinner--dressed so quickly, indeed, that he thought he was entitled to glance at the outside of the pile of letters awaiting him there on the mantelpiece. He had a large correspondence, from all kinds of people; and when he was in a hurry this brief scrutiny of the address was all he allowed himself; he usually could tell if there was anything of unusual importance. On the present occasion the only handwriting that arrested him for a second was Nina's; and some sort of half-understood compunction made him open her letter. Well, it was not a letter; it was merely a little printed form, such as is put about the stalls and boxes of a theatre when an announcement has to be made. This announcement read as follows: