winter evening, till the curdled blood of the hearers made them ready for that fear which follows close upon horror; and it was said that a dark spectre flitted along that lonely gallery, and that the November wind had more than once brought wailings not of this world. The tradition rose to Lucy's scared fancy; and supernatural terror was added to real, till at length, if less frightened, Francesca became almost as agitated as herself; and, in spite of every firmer resolve, started as the air came harshly through the many crevices, and as the uncertain shadows swayed to and fro. Much as they dreaded encountering the sentinel, when they arrived in the gallery it was a relief to hear his measured step, and have their alarm take that tangible shape which required exertion. In an instant the quick eye of the practised soldier caught their shrouded lamp, and "Who goes there?" rang upon their startled ears—startled as much as if they had not expected such challenge.
Lucy at once recognised the man's face. He had been a servant about the farm, and indebted to her for many a little act of kindness to himself and his family. Her courage rose with the idea of not having to address a stranger. "We are friends, Irvine," said she; "And fortunate do I
