And then there was a pause, full of sighs of happiness. 'The stone was cast into the water, and the still lake broke up into a stormy sea, where there would be peace and quiet no more!' No more, at least, unless the future held some happiness for these two poor loving hearts. 'Have I done wrong?' said Cameron, in a breathless voice, after a little time; 'God knows I never meant that you should see how dearly, how desperately, and how hopelessly I love you when I let the precious secret escape me as I did; but it is done now.' She was pale as death and trembling violently, as she thought of her mother; yet she nestled closely and clingingly to him. 'You love me, Eveline?' 'Can you ask?' she whispered. 'Yes--oh, yes--Evan.' He was intoxicated, and drew her close to him again. Such a moment comes but once in life--once only! 'Let us go now--we shall be missed,' said Eveline. 'Oh, stay one moment longer, darling.' 'Mamma, if we could only get her to be our friend, all might be right and go well.' 'Even with my poverty, Eveline?' 'Don't call it so. Yes, papa always gives in to her in the long run.' Cameron sighed. 'Are you two practising for amateur theatricals, or admiring the stars through the stained glass?' said the voice of Lord Aberfeldie, suddenly. We have said that the eyes of his wife had followed the pair, and hence no doubt his lordship's sudden appearance in the dimly-lighted corridor. Both were painfully confused. How much had Lord Aberfeldie overseen, how much had he overheard, or how little of both? It was impossible for them to guess, but he good-naturedly affected not to see all that his mind took in. Cameron felt that he had nothing to explain, to urge, or to utter, but bowed, smiled a very hollow smile indeed, and led his partner back to the dancing-room, where neither waltzed more that evening, as the impromptu affair was over, the guests were departing, and Lord Aberfeldie was beginning to think that the diamonds of the legend were already producing their evil results in this the first untoward event in the young life of his daughter. Allan and Cameron, avoiding Holcroft, sat long that night in the former's room smoking and imbibing brandy-and-soda, but no word escaped the lover of what had passed in the corridor; and, sooth to say, full of Olive and himself, Allan had never missed the pair from the dancing-room. Cameron was to leave Dundargue betimes next morning, so he bade farewell to his comrade, who charged him with remembrances to 'all our fellows of the Black Watch;' and anon Cameron found himself alone with his own loving, exulting, sad, and anxious thoughts, and with the little bouquet--a dwarf laurel leaf and sprig of crowberry--dearer to him then than even his Victoria Cross! Again and again did he rehearse that sweet episode in the dimly-lit corridor, and again and again in the time to come would it return with sorrowful reiteration to his heart and memory!