When she was but a slip of a lass I found out her eyes played merry tricks, an' yet I love her as though she were my own daughter.

An' she's a good girl in spite of all the mischief in her." "And she is truly a loyalist ?" "If not, I know no better.

The rebel blood is all in the boy so far as I can learn, yet I will not answer for what Mistress Claire might do." We fell silent, my memory with the girl, endeavoring to recall her exact words, the expression of her face.

It was not in my heart to believe she had deceived me.

There was no reason why she should, and it was easy to conceive how she had naturally become part of the gay pageant, herself an exile, and with both father and lover in the King's service.