"When the aged and venerable-looking old minister prayed, first in Gaelic and then in English, for the success and safety of the British army, my heart beat earnestly and responsive to the words which fell from his withered lips. Indeed you may be sure it did. "Whether or not papa favours the attentions of the Earl of Hyndford I do not know; but he often speaks kindly of you, and I love to listen to him when he does so. He has not forgotten that dangerous ducking at Corrie-avon. Ah! what a day of terror that one was! "I am very busy just now, working a pair of colours for the Greek Light Infantry, the regiment of my uncle Ludovick. They are of white silk, quite covered with embroidery and needle-work. I am heartily tired of them: but Louis’s old flames, the Graemes of Corrie-oich, are living with us just now, and we ply our needles from day-dawn till sun-set like so many Penelopes, and the standards will soon be dancing in the breezes of the Ionian isles. When the Gordon Highlanders want a new pair of colours, you will know where to apply. With a thousand prayers for your safety, and a thousand more for your return, I must now conclude, as papa and Hyndford have just come from the moors, with six men laden with grouse-bags, and I must hurry down to the drawing-room. So believe me to be, my own dearest Ronald, yours ever, ALICE LISLE." "P.S. Do endeavour to send your next letters by some other way, as they must all have mis-carried. Try Cadiz, or Gibraltar,—but perhaps it is impossible. Jessie Cavers, my foster-sister, (who is at my side while I am writing,) begs you will remind her to her ’Jo and dearie O,’ a young man named Evan Iverach, who belongs to your company; and tell him, that he is not forgotten by _the_ heart he has left at _hame_." A.L. "Alice, my own beloved Alice! and you are yet true!" exclaimed Stuart aloud, pressing the letter to his lips. "What a wretch and madman I have been to doubt you for a moment! How unworthy I am that you should condescend to write to me! Alas! oh, Alice, how much I have wronged you by my false and wicked suspicions of your truth and constancy. Ah! my own dear girl, my repentant heart turns to you more fondly by a thousand degrees than of yore." He drew forth her miniature to gaze upon it, and while doing so, let fall the letter. "Upon my word, a most industrious creature!" said Louis Lisle, who had been standing by, as he picked it up. "She has given you no less than four closely written pages, of a very pretty lady-like and current little hand. I have been sitting beside you for this hour past, skimming stones along the surface of the Tagus,—not a very intellectual amusement. I did not wish to interrupt you, but I thought you would never come to a halt. How often have you read this letter over?" "Three times." "Thrice? See what it is to be in love!"