"The master can rarely be tempted now from the little south window where he sits with his few books," said Hamilton. "I lived neighbor to him all my young days. Not long ago he went to visit his son James, and walked out with him to see the village at the falls of the Saco. There was an old woman lately come over from Ireland with her grandchildren; they said she remembered things in Charles the Second’s time, and was above a hundred years of age. James Sullivan, the judge, thinking to amuse his father, stopped before the house, and out came the old creature, and fell upon her knees. ’My God! ’t is the young Prince of Ardea!’ says she. ’Oh, I mind me well of your lady mother, sir; ’t was in Derry I was born, but I lived a year in Ardea, and yourself was a pretty boy busy with your courting!’ The old man burst into tears. ’Let us go, James,’ says he, ’or this will break my heart!’ but he stopped and said a few words to her in a whisper, and gave the old body his blessing and all that was in his poor purse. He would listen to her no more. ’We need not speak of youth,’ he told her; ’we remember it only too well!’ A man told me this who stood by and heard the whole." "’Twas most affecting; it spurs the imagination," said the captain. "If I had but an hour to spare I should ride to see him once more, even by night. You will carry the master my best respects, some of you. "One last glass, gentlemen, to our noble cause! We may never sit in pleasant company again," he added, and they all rose in their places and stood about the table. "_Haud heigh_, my old auntie used to say to me at home. Aim high’s the English of it. She was of the bold clan of the MacDuffs, and ’t is my own motto in these anxious days. Good-by, gentlemen all!" said the little captain. "I ask for your kind wishes and your prayers." They all looked at Hamilton, and then at one another, but nobody took it upon himself to speak, so they shook hands warmly and drank their last toast in silence and with deep feeling. It was time to join the ladies; already there was a sound of music across the hall in a great room which had been cleared for the dancing. *IV* *THE FLOWERING OF WHOSE FACE* "Dear love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream, * * * * * Therefore thou wak’dst me wisely; yet My dream thou breakest not, but continuest it." While the guests went in to supper, Mary Hamilton, safe in the shelter of friendly shadows, went hurrying along the upper hall of the house to her own chamber. The coming moon was already brightening the eastern sky, so that when she opened the door the large room with its white hangings was all dimly lighted from without, and she could see the figure of a girl standing at one of the windows.