'And once she conceived it to be the attraction of Allan; but she knows better now--that he loves, or loved, her for herself alone.' 'She has already had two peers and a baronet in her train, all drawn thither, I fear, by her money-bags alone, and young Carslogie of Ours seemed desperately smitten, too.' 'Ours?' 'Well, I always think of the Black Watch as 'Ours'--it is force of habit--a good-looking fellow, well-born, well-bred, with plenty of money.' 'Allan is his equal in all these and more; but what he and she mean by dallying and delaying as they do, I cannot conceive.' Allan had looked upon Olive at the recent marriage in her striking costume as a bridesmaid, and thought she had never appeared to greater advantage. Why should she not have figured there as a bride too? What was the secret spring of this doubt and mistrust that had come between them again, and which she shrank from attempting to explain? To do her justice, she was often on the point of doing so; but a sentiment of miserable fear of what Allan might do, think, or say, if made aware of the deep affront Holcroft was capable of inflicting upon his future wife, tied her tongue. Better would it have been a thousand times had she trusted to Allan fully and implicitly, and to the means he might put in force to procure or purchase the silence for ever of such a reptile as her tormentor. The knowledge in the minds of both, that a time for separation must inevitably come soon now, if all the rumours of war proved true, softened their emotions, and drew the cousins towards each other again. The intercourse between them had, as of old, its usual charm, but was strange and constrained, for as Allan did not attempt again the _rôle_ of lover, but seemed to 'bide his time,' Olive felt her pride alarmed, and would often reply to him coldly, with a straightening of her slim form, and a cresting up of her graceful neck and handsome head. Time passed on; she heard nothing of Hawke Holcroft or his threats, and the courage of Olive rose; but it was awful to think of her name being at the mercy of such a creature, even if she were married! Once the love that was really smouldering in the hearts of both nearly burst into a flame again. Olive was seated in the garden at Maviswood so deeply lost in thought that she was unaware of Allan's approach until he overhung the rustic sofa she occupied. 'A penny for your thoughts, Olive,' said he. 'The sum usually offered for what might prove a perilous secret to know.' 'Well?' 'My thoughts were of many things till your voice scattered them,' said she, twirling her sunshade on her shoulder. 'I was in hope they were of--me.' Olive only smiled, and remained silent, while he looked into her eyes with a curiously mingled expression, which seemed to be both imploring and commanding, but she only said, 'They were not of you--why should they be?' Allan drew back a pace, with a cloudy brow.