At all events, the old thorn trees where the spectre was wont to appear, looked particularly gloomy on this evening, and as the lovers passed near it, Flora drew closer to Quentin, and then she perceived that his eyes were full of tears. "Quentin--Quentin dear!" she exclaimed in a tone of earnest question and expostulation. It was the first time, almost, that she had addressed him since Cosmo's letter came, and now her voice thrilled through him. He threw his left arm round her, and clasping her right hand within his own, pressed it to his heart, which beat tumultuously, and while the long avenue seemed whirling round them, he said,-- "So Lady Rohallion has made up her mind that--that--you shall marry the Master, Flora?" "So it is the fear of this that distresses you?" Pride sealed Quentin's lips. "My poor Quentin," resumed Flora, looking tenderly and innocently into his eyes, "you love me very much, don't you?" "Love you--love you, Flora!" he stammered. "Yes." "I love you better than my life!" he exclaimed passionately. "Well," said she, with a beautiful smile and a gaiety of manner that he did not quite relish; "I will never marry any man but he whom I choose myself--certainly not he who is chosen by others." "Darling Flora!" "There--there--_stop_--and perhaps, Quentin, I mayn't marry _you_. 'Tis said people change when they grow older, and we are very young, you know; but Quentin, dear, I love you very, very much, be assured of that." Her head dropped on his shoulder, and he kissed her passionately--the LAST time he was ever to do so in the old avenue of Rohallion. At that moment the clatter of hoofs was heard, and ere they could part or regain their composure, two horsemen, one in advance of the other, both riding fast, with brown leather saddle bags and long holsters--the first in a fashionable riding-coat with a cape, the latter in livery, and both in top-boots and spotless white breeches, passed up the avenue at a hand-gallop. Both had seen our lovers near the thorn thicket, and the first horseman, whom Quentin's heart rightly foreboded to be the dreaded Master of Rohallion, turned in his saddle, and said something to his groom, indicating the pair with his whip. They both looked back and laughed immoderately, as they dashed through the ivy-clad arch of the haunted gate. Separating in haste and confusion, Quentin and Flora hurried away to calm their excitement and seek the drawing-room. CHAPTER XIII. COSMO THE MASTER. "Why make I friendships with the great, When I no favour seek? Or follow girls seven hours in eight-- I need but once a week? Luxurious lobster night's farewell, For sober studious days! And Burlington's delicious meal, For salads, tarts, and peas."--POPE.