'Darling,' said he, as he drew her to his breast, 'compose yourself; I have just had great news--bad news you will deem them--to tell you.' From these few speeches it may be gathered that the cloud that hovered between this pair of lovers had passed away, and that sunshine had come again. They were at Puddicombe House, a villa of Sir Paget's, which he had lent to Lord Aberfeldie, and from the windows of which, as it overlooked Stokes Bay and Spithead from the Clarence Parade at Southsea, they could daily see the departure of great white 'troopers,' crowded with soldiers--Highlanders, Rifles, and Marines--steaming past the long line of the sea-wall (with all its naval trophies and monuments) _en route_ for the shores of Egypt. There, too, were in view the three forts in the Channel, with Puckpool Battery at Spring Yale, which, with the other in a line on the mainland, would effectually bar an enemy's ship from reaching Portsmouth Harbour. Ponderous indeed are these forts--one in particular, a mass of circular masonry, girt by a black belt of iron armour, pierced with port-holes, through which the great guns of 'the period' may spit out shot and shell; and beyond lies the peaceful Isle of Wight--a charming stretch of sloping land, wooded to the water's edge, and studded with beautiful mansions. 'You have bad news to tell me?' said Olive, as the haunting terror that was ever before her struck a pang to her heart. 'I must rejoin my regiment at once; it leaves the Castle of Edinburgh to-morrow for Egypt, and I am to meet it at Woolwich, where the transport awaits it. Oh, how hard it is to part with you--even for a time,' he added, caressing her, as her head dropped upon his breast; 'to part thus, and unmarried yet, Olive--after all our past folly, jealousies, and waste of time. Speak to me, darling!' 'What can I say, Allan?' replied Olive, piteously, as her tears fell fast. 'We shall not go to this dinner-party at the Port Admiral's, of course. Our last evening must be spent together.' 'Oh, Allan, Allan!' 'Take off those evil diamonds, darling--those stones of ill omen. Why did the mater let you wear them? They are never produced without something happening.' 'And the transport sails--when?' 'On Tuesday evening.' 'So soon--so very soon!' 'My darling--my own--don't weep so,' said he, pressing her closer to his breast, and nestling her face in his neck, while he caressed and tried to soothe her; but the impulsive Olive would neither be soothed nor comforted for a time. When, however, she became calmer, he said, 'I must leave you for a few minutes. I must telegraph to the adjutant, see the mater, poor soul, and send apologies, as we shall not go to the admiral's to-night.'