Quentin remembered that gentleman's cold and haughty manner, and the half-concealed dislike which he ever manifested towards himself. He remembered what Flora had more than once told him two years ago of Lady Rohallion's intentions or hopes regarding her, and his heart grew sick with apprehension of a rival so formidable. He thought perhaps Cosmo might have formed an attachment elsewhere; but that would not prevent him from making love to Flora, were it only to kill time; and in her lover's eyes, she seemed so beautiful, that the Master would certainly find it impossible to oppose the desire of his mother; and Quentin dreaded her yielding; to the united influence of the family, and the advantages a suitor of such rank, experience and position could offer. He saw it all, and considered Flora lost to him! Pride made him silent on the subject, and Flora, who with female acuteness divined what was passing in his mind, deemed it unnecessary or unwise to speak of it. She pitied Quentin, for she soon perceived how pale and miserable he looked; while he misconstrued her reserve and became fretful, even petulant with her. As if to add to his trouble, with that obtuseness of intellect (shall we call it petty malice?) peculiar to their order, some of those same persons, who long ago were wont to annoy Flora and make Quentin blush, by jestingly calling them "man and wife," now taunted him with his too probable loss on the arrival of the Master, a boy's love being almost deemed, beyond any other, a legitimate subject for banter. These stinging remarks made Quentin's heart swell with pride and jealousy, doubt and alarm, for now he heard the matter referred to daily in the course of conversation. "So, my dear lady," he heard the parish minister say, when paying his periodical visit, "local rumour says that the Master is coming home to obtain a final answer from a certain young lady, before rejoining the army." Lady Rohallion merely bowed and smiled, as much as to say that local rumour was right. "They have an old man's blessing," he added blandly, as he departed on his barrel-bellied Galloway cob, and thought of an augmented stipend in futurity. "The Master's coming home to enter for the heiress, and have a shy at the grouse and ptarmigan," the gamekeeper said, while cleaning the arms in the gunroom. "He'll walk the course--won't he, Mr. Quentin?" added the groom, while preparing the stables for more horses. "To carry the fortress, and leave you to march off with the honours of war," said the quartermaster at one time. "A braw day will it be for Rohallion!" remarked the dominie at another. "There shall be dancing and feasting, scattering of nuts as we find in Pliny, with shooting of cannon, and shouts of _Io Hymen Hymenæe_!" "My puir Quentin," said Elsie Irvine, while, pondering on such rumours, he wandered moodily enough "by the sad sea wave," "so you're gaun to lose your wee wifie at last?"