Gregory looked on the fresh, oval face, with its wealth of brown hair crowning the low, broad forehead, and told himself that in his daughter he had just cause for pride.

He looked again, and told himself that his brother was right; she had not the air of a maid whose lover returns not from the wars.
Her lips were smiling, and the eyes--low-lidded and blue as the heavens--were bright with mirth.
"Why sit you there so glum," she cried, "whilst my uncle, they tell me, is going on a journey ?" Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test.
"Kenneth," he replied with significant emphasis, watching her closely.
The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave expression that added to their charm.

But Gregory had looked for fear, leastways deep concern, and in this he was disappointed.
"What of him, father ?" she asked, approaching.
"Naught, and that's the rub.

It is time we had news, and as none comes, your uncle goes to seek it." "Think you that ill can have befallen him ?" Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer.

Then "We hope not, sweetheart," said he.