GRACE CAMERON.

In the centre of a remote glen or strath, in the West Highlands of Scotland, stands the old mansion-house of the family of Duntruskin. At the time of the rebellion of 1745-6, this house was the residence of Ewan Cameron, Esq., a gentleman of considerable landed property and extensive influence in the country. Mr Cameron was, at the period of our story, a widower, with an only child. This child was Grace Cameron, a fine, blooming girl of nineteen, with a bosom filled with all the romance and high-souled sentiment of her mountain birth and education. In the commotions of the unhappy period above alluded to, Mr Cameron, although warmly attached to the cause of the Pretender, took personally no active part; but he assisted in its promotion by secret supplies of money, proportioned in amount to his means. In the result of the struggle—which, although he was not yet aware of it, had already arrived at a consummation on Culloden Muir—neither he nor his daughter had anything to fear for themselves; but this did not by any means relieve them from all anxiety on the momentous occasion. The father had to fear for many dear and intimate friends, and the daughter for the fate of a lover, who were in the ranks of the rebel army. This lover was Malcolm M'Gregor of Strontian—a warmhearted, high-spirited young man, the son of a neighbouring tacksman, to whom Grace had been long attached, and by whom she was most sincerely and tenderly loved in return. M'Gregor at this period held a captain's commission in the service of the Prince, and had distinguished himself by his bravery in the various contests with the royal troops that had occurred during the rebellion.

Having given this brief preliminary sketch, and advising the reader that the precise period at which our tale opens is on the second day after the battle of Culloden, and the locality a certain little parlour in Duntruskin House, we proceed with our story. Seated in this little parlour, on the day in question, Grace Cameron—occasionally employing her needle, but more frequently pausing to muse on the absent, to reflect on the past, or to anticipate the future—awaited, with intense anxiety, some intelligence regarding the movements and fortunes of the rebel army, with whose fate she deemed her own connected, since it was shared by one who was dearer to her than all the earth besides.

Grace did not expect any special communication on this important subject; but she knew that common fame would soon bring a rumour of every occurrence of consequence which should take place at this interesting crisis. With this expectation, she anxiously watched from her window the approach of every stranger to the house; and, when one appeared, was the first to meet and to question him regarding the events of the day. At length a report reached her, in which all agreed—for her informers had differed widely in others—that a great event had taken place, that a sanguinary battle had been fought; but, this admitted, the usual discrepancies and contradictions followed. Some declared that the Prince's army was defeated, and that a number of his leading men had been killed and taken prisoners; others, with equal confidence, asserted that the rebels were victorious, and that the king's troops were flying in all directions. Elated and depressed by turns by these conflicting rumours, Grace awaited, in dreadful anxiety, some certain intelligence regarding what had taken place. It was while in this state of mind, and while gazing listlessly, and almost unconsciously, from her little parlour window on the wide prospect which it commanded, that her eye was suddenly riveted on one particular spot. This was an abrupt turn in the great road leading to Inverness, which passed Duntruskin House at the distance of about half-a-mile, and from which, at this moment, the sun's rays were suddenly reflected, in bright, brief, and frequent flashes, as if from many surfaces of polished steel. Grace's heart beat violently; for she instantly and rightly conjectured that the dark body which now gradually, but rapidly, came in sight, and from which the coruscations which had first attracted her attention emanated, was composed of armed men; but whether they were rebels or king's troops, the distance prevented her from ascertaining. In this state of doubt, however, she did not long remain. Their rapid approach soon showed her that they were a party of royalist dragoons—a circumstance which threw her into the utmost terror. Nor was this feeling lessened by her perceiving them leave the highway, and make directly for the house. On seeing this, Grace, in the greatest alarm, hastened to seek out her father, whom she found busily engaged in writing, and utterly unconscious of the threatened visit. When informed of it, his countenance became pale, and his whole frame agitated; for he dreaded that his secret connection with the rebels had been discovered, and that he was now about to be apprehended; and these were also the fears of his daughter. Without saying a word, however, in reply to what had just been communicated to him, Mr Cameron threw down his pen, started hastily to his feet, and hurried to the window, beneath which, so rapid had been their motions, the troopers were already drawn up. The commander of the party—for there was only one officer—was a little thickset man, about forty-two years of age, with a red, florid, vulgar countenance, expressive at once of gross sensuality, much indulgence in the bottle, and a total absence of all feeling. In the manner of his dress he evidently affected the military dandy: his shirt neck reached nearly to the point of his nose; his gloves were of the purest white; a showy silk handkerchief was carelessly thrust into his breast, with just enough left projecting to indicate its presence. Notwithstanding this display of finery, however, and in despite of a splendid uniform made after the smartest military fashion of the time, Captain Stubbs was still exceedingly unlike a gentleman, and still more unlike a soldier. The first he was not, either by birth or education; the latter he had neither talents nor energy of character sufficient ever to become. The absence, however, of these qualities in Captain Stubbs was amply supplied by others. He was vain, irascible, conceited, and cruel; brutal and overbearing in his manners; and coarse and utterly regardless of the feelings of others in his language. He was, moreover, both an epicure and a glutton; and, to complete his very amiable character, a most egregious coward.

Having drawn up his party in front of the house as already mentioned, Captain Stubbs, before dismounting, threw a scrutinising glance at several of the windows of the building, as if to ascertain what sort of quarters he might expect—a point with him of the last importance. In the course of this brief survey, his eye alighted on that occupied by Mr Cameron and his daughter, whom he saluted with an insolent and familiar nod. In the next instant he was at the door, where he was met by Mr Cameron himself, with a countenance strongly expressive of the alarm and uncertainty which he felt, and could not conceal, regarding the issue of the interview now about to take place.

On their meeting—"Ha," said Stubbs, addressing the latter, "you are, I presume, Mr—Mr——Hang me, I forget your name, sir! Mine, sir, is Captain Stubbs, of the —— regiment of dragoons. I find your name is in my list of—of"—here the captain (who had by this time been conducted to the dining-room), perfectly indifferent as to the particular of finishing his sentence, began to pull off his gloves, and to detach his spurs from his boots, with the air of one who is determined to be quite at home—"of—of," he continued to repeat, with the utmost disregard of ordinary politeness, and with the most profound contempt for the feelings of his host, who, taking alarm at the ominous hiatus, which he fully expected would be filled up by his being ranked amongst the proscribed, waited patiently and meekly the conveniency of Captain Stubbs—"of—of," repeated the captain slowly, after having divested himself of his accoutrements, and otherwise prepared himself for an hour or two's enjoyment—"of the friends of the government," he at length said; and the words instantly relieved both his host and his daughter from the most dreadful apprehensions. "So I have just beat you up," continued Captain Stubbs, "en passant, as 'twere, to tell you of the total defeat of the rebels, at a place called Culloden, and to have a morsel of dinner—eh, old boy?—and an hour or two's quarters for the men and horses."

"Much obliged for the honour," replied Mr Cameron, ironically, and accompanying the expression with a polite and formal bow; but, at the same time, cautiously guarding against any expression of his real feelings on this occasion, amongst which was a strong inclination to kick the redoubted Captain Stubbs to the door. His prudence, however, prevented him embroiling himself in this or any other way with a visiter who had the means of retaliation so much in his power.

Immediately after making the announcement above recorded, Captain Stubbs added, "And now, Mr—A—a——Pray, what the devil's your name, sir?"

"My name, sir," replied the party interrogated, "is Cameron—Ewan Cameron."

"Ah! Cameron—ay, Cameron," repeated Captain Stubbs, knitting his brows, and endeavouring to look very dignified. "Why, then, sir, I want some brandy and water; and pray, see that some of your fellows look after my horses." Having been provided with, and having swallowed a very handsome modicum of the beverage he had called for, Captain Stubbs went on—"I say, Cameron, can any of your brutes, your Hottentots, prepare me a fowl, à la Condé?"

"Why, Captain Stubbs," replied Mr Cameron, whose anxiety to keep well with the government and all connected with it induced him to suppress the resentment which the amazing insolence of his guest was so well calculated to excite—"our cookery is in general of a very plain sort."

"Ay, oh! boiled beef and cabbage, I suppose," interrupted Captain Stubbs, with a sneer.

"But my daughter," continued Mr Cameron, without noticing the impertinent interruption, "has, I believe, some little skill in these matters, and will be happy, I doubt not, to make some attempt to produce the dish you speak of; I will not, however, answer for her success."

"Your daughter, Mr A—a—a; ay, your daughter," said Captain Stubbs; "why, let me see—yes, let her try it; but, zounds, if she spoil it, it shall be at her peril. No, no," he added, after a moment's thought—"I'll tell you what, Mr Cameron—as it would be a devil of a business to have the thing botched, I suppose I must give instructions about it myself: so, pray, order every one out of your kitchen but your cook, and I shall go down-stairs presently, and see the thing properly done. In the meantime, Mr Thingumbob, call in your daughter, that I may have some conversation with her on the subject, that I may learn how far she may be trusted in this affair."

Mr Cameron immediately rung the bell, and desired the servant who obeyed the summons to inform his daughter that he wished to see her immediately. "And, that she may not be altogether unprepared," he added, "say to her that I wish to introduce her to Captain Stubbs."

"Ah!" ejaculated the latter, with a supercilious nod, in acknowledgment of his acquiescence in the terms of the message. In a few minutes, Miss Cameron entered the apartment. "Ah! Miss Cameron, I presume," said the captain, with a haughty inclination of his head, but without moving from his seat. "Your father, madam," he continued, "tells me that you know something of le grand cuisine. Now, pray, madam, how do you compound your sauce for a fowl, à la Condé? Eh, ma'am? Answer me that, if you please. Do you use chopped veal or not? If you don't, you spoil the dish—that's all. I've seen mutton used, but it's downright abomination."

"Why, sir," replied Miss Cameron, haughtily, shocked and disgusted with the insolence and gross epicureanism of the brute, "I am not accustomed to be catechised on these subjects, or on any other, in the very peculiar manner which you seem to have adopted."

"No!" exclaimed the gallant captain, starting up to a sitting posture, and at the same time seizing his shirt-collars with finger and thumb, and tugging them up at least another inch higher on his face. "I say, you are uncivil, and confoundedly unpolite, madam. I am a king's officer, madam—and a soldier, madam—and, by heavens, neither man nor woman shall insult Captain Stubbs with impunity!"

"Nobly said, captain!" replied Miss Cameron, with an air of the mock heroic; "draw your sword, sir, and lay your insulter dead at your feet; or, if you are not altogether so sanguinary, you may send me a challenge by my waiting-maid, who, I daresay, will have no objection to act as my second in any little affair of honour—such as this is likely to be."

"Miss Cameron, madam—Mr Cameron," stuttered and sputtered out Captain Stubbs, starting to his feet, his face reddening with rage, and every feature exhibiting symptoms of the high indignation which he felt—"Mr Cameron, sir, I command you, sir, in the king's name, to turn your daughter out of this apartment, otherwise I shall order up half-a-dozen of my fellows, with pistol and sabre, to drive her from my presence; and it is not improbable, sir, that I may have her apprehended, and tried, and shot as a rebel, sir."

Whilst delivering himself of this appalling speech, Captain Stubbs strutted up and down the apartment, chafing with rage; at one time impatiently tugging on his gloves, at another buttoning up his coat with an air of determination, which he thought, no doubt, would strike terror into the breasts of his auditors.

Mr Cameron, unwilling that matters should be carried any farther, and still desirous to keep up appearances with his guest, now approached his daughter; and, taking her gently by the hand, and at the same time leading her towards the door—

"Grace," he said, "I think you had better retire. You do not appear disposed," he added—smiling in his daughter's face as he spoke, but taking care to conceal this expression of his real feelings from the enraged captain—"to make yourself agreeable to-day; and therefore it may be as well that you carry your temper to some other quarter."

"Oh, certainly, sir, since it is your pleasure," replied Miss Cameron, tripping towards the door, where she stood for an instant—looked full at the captain—said she would expect to hear from him at his convenience, as to time, place, and weapons—made him a stately curtsey, and left the apartment.

When she had gone—"Don't think I am afraid of her, Mr Cameron," said Captain Stubbs. "I am a man, sir, and a soldier, sir," he continued, still pacing the room, in great indignation at the treatment he had received from his fair antagonist, "and not to be frightened with trifles; but I say, Mr A—a—," he added, in a more subdued tone, "as I am not a man to permit such small occurrences as this to direct my attention from any important object I may have in view, I beg to know distinctly what you have for dinner, and I insist upon you, at the same time, recollecting, sir, that I am a king's officer, sir, and have a right to civil treatment."

"What sort of dinner you are to have, Captain Stubbs," replied Mr Cameron, "I really do not exactly know; but you may rest assured that, in so far as it lies with me, you shall have civil treatment; and I request of you to point out to me in what way I may contribute to your comfort."

"Ah! well—very well," replied Captain Stubbs. "Am I, then, or am I not, to have a fowl à la Condé, sir—eh?"

"Surely, sir," said his host; "if any of my people can prepare such a dish as you speak of, you shall have it."

"What the devil, then!" exclaimed Stubbs, passionately; "and am I to lose my dinner if your Hottentots shouldn't happen to know how to cook it? No! hang me, sir, I'll superintend the thing myself. I'll do it with my own hands, if you will show me the way to your kitchen."

With this request Mr Cameron immediately complied, by marshalling the captain to the scene of his proposed labours. On arriving in the kitchen, he forthwith prepared himself for the work he was about to undertake, by throwing off his regimental coat, rolling up his shirt-sleeves to his shoulders, and seizing on a large carving-knife which happened to be lying within his reach. Thus prepared, Captain Stubbs, after having been provided, by his own special orders, with a pair of choice fowls, lemon juice, bacon, parsley, thyme, bay-leaf, cloves, &c. &c., commenced operations; and, forgetting his dignity in his devotion to good living, he might now be seen smeared, from finger-ends to elbows, with grease and offal, earnestly engaged in disembowelling, with his own hands, the fowls on which he meant to exercise his gastronomic skill.

Leaving Captain Stubbs, of his majesty's —— regiment of horse, thus becomingly employed, we shall return to a personage who, we should suppose, will be fully more interesting to the reader. This is Grace Cameron. That lady, on leaving the presence of her father, and him of the fowl à la Condé, returned to her own apartment, when, recollecting that the dragoons were still in front of the house, she walked up to the window, to gratify her curiosity by taking another peep at the warlike display; and it was while thus employed that Miss Cameron, for the first time, perceived that there was a prisoner amongst the soldiers. The prisoner was a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years of age. He was mounted behind one of the dragoons, to whom he was secured by a cord, which was passed round the bodies of both. Grace thought she perceived that the boy looked up at the windows of the house with more earnestness and anxiety than curiosity; and, when his eye at length rested on that she occupied, he threw a peculiar intelligence into his look, accompanied by certain expressive but almost imperceptible signs, that convinced her that he was desirous of holding some communication with her. Satisfied of this, Grace raised the window at which she stood, and beckoned to the serjeant of the troop to approach nearer. He rode up to within a few yards of the house.

"Is that poor boy a prisoner, sir?" inquired Miss Cameron.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the serjeant, touching his hat.

"For what has he been taken up? What has he done?"

"Done, ma'am! Lord love you, ma'am—excuse me—he has done nothing as I knows of; but our captain suspects him of being a rebel."

"Where did you fall in with him?"

"Why, ma'am, we picked him up on the road as we came along this morning. Captain saw him skulking behind a hedge. 'There's a blackguard-looking rascal, serjeant,' says he. 'He has the rebel cut about him as perfect as a picture. Pick him up, and strap him to one of the fellows, and we'll see what the cat-o'-nine-tails will bring out of him.'"

"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed Grace, shocked at this instance of military despotism, "is it possible that such a state of things exists—that you can apprehend and punish whomsoever you please, without a shadow of crime being established against them? You cannot have such a power, serjeant. It is impossible."

"Oh, bless you, ma'am, but we have, though," replied the serjeant. "Captain may hang or shoot a dozen every day, if he has a mind, without ever axing them a question. We could never get through our work otherwise; and, as to this young rogue's being a rebel, there's no doubt of it. He's all in rags; and, as captain says, every poor-looking ragged rascal is sure to be a rebel."

"Pretty grounds, truly, on which to subject a man to the treatment of a felon!" said Miss Cameron. "However," she continued, "will it be any dereliction of your duty, serjeant, to permit me to speak for a moment with the unfortunate lad?"

"By no means, ma'am," replied the serjeant. "Provided he's kept fast till captain's pleasure is known regarding him, I don't see it signifies a pinch of gunpowder who speaks to him."

Availing herself of the permission granted her, Grace was in an instant afterwards beside the prisoner, whose looks brightened up with an expression of extreme delight as she approached him. After asking the lad a few trivial questions, she observed him cautiously stealing something forth from a concealment in his dress. It was a letter. Watching an opportunity, he slipped this document unperceived into her hand.

Trembling with agitation, although she knew not well for what, Grace crammed the letter into her bosom, and saying to its bearer that she would speak with him again, she hurried into the house, and sought a retired apartment, when, pulling it from her bosom, she discovered, from the handwriting of the address, that it was from Malcolm M'Gregor. With a beating heart and trembling hand, she opened it, and read—

"Dearest Grace,—All is lost. The Prince's army is defeated and dispersed, and I am now a wandering fugitive in my native land, with the axe of the executioner suspended over my neck. This is a dreadful reverse, and carries with it destruction to all our hopes—to mine, individually, utter annihilation. I have only time to add, dearest Grace, that, if I can escape the bloodhounds that are in pursuit of us, I must seek safety in a foreign land. I will, however, endeavour to see you before I go. I must see you, Grace, and shall do so at all hazards. I have hitherto escaped unhurt. God bless you," &c. &c.

With mingled feelings of joy and grief—joy to find that her lover still lived, and had escaped the dangers of the battle-field, and grief for the unfortunate position in which he was now placed—Grace returned the letter to her bosom, and hastily left the apartment, when she was met by her father, who insisted upon her joining Captain Stubbs and himself at dinner; requesting her, at the same time, to conduct herself in a conciliatory way to the captain, and thus to endeavour to make her peace with him, as he was such a man, he said, as might occasion them trouble, if allowed to leave the house with any feelings of irritation towards them.

Obedient to her father's commands, Grace joined the party, and not only avoided giving Stubbs any farther offence, but got so far into his good graces that she actually prevailed on him to order the release of the boy who had been the bearer of Malcolm's letter—an order which Grace took care to see immediately fulfilled; nay, Captain Stubbs not only did this, but began, after dinner, when his temper had been mollified by the good things of which he had partaken, to play the gallant—and in this character he was standing at a window with Miss Cameron, when, suddenly dropping the awkward badinage which he had been attempting—

"But who the devil have we got here?" he exclaimed, his eye having caught a man in a mean dress, who, on discovering the dragoons as he approached the house, suddenly stopped short, and, in evident surprise and alarm, sprung to one side of the road, and endeavoured to conceal himself behind a low and rather thin hedge that ran parallel to the house, and directly in front of it. Stubbs pointed him out to Miss Cameron; she started, and turned pale; for, meanly dressed as he was, she at once recognised in the stranger her lover, Malcolm M'Gregor. He had come, she doubted not, in this disguise, to pay the visit which his letter had promised. In the meantime, Stubbs, flushed with the wine he had drunk, and desirous of showing Miss Cameron his promptitude and energy on sudden emergencies, threw up the window violently, and called out to the soldiers to pursue the fugitive, and to fire upon him, if he did not surrender himself. It was in vain that Miss Cameron—at this trying moment forgetting the additional danger to which the warm and earnest expressions of her interest in the fate of her lover would subject him—implored Captain Stubbs to allow him to escape.

"For Heaven's sake," she exclaimed, in the agony of her feelings, and seizing him almost convulsively by the hand as she spoke, "do not commit murder! Do not send the soldiers after him, captain. I will do anything for you—I will go on my bended knees to you," said the distracted girl, "if you will call your men back, and allow him to escape." To this appeal Stubbs made no other reply than by repeating, with additional vehemence, his orders to the soldiers; half-a-dozen of whom, with the serjeant at their head, now galloped furiously off in the direction which he pointed out. Then, turning round to Miss Cameron, with a look of mingled triumph and self-complacency—

"Why, madam," he said, "we must do our duty. We soldiers mustn't stand on trifles. The fellow must be shot; and, if he isn't shot, he must be hanged—that's all; so there's but two ways of it—eh? Tight work that, madam, isn't it—eh?"

At this instant, the report of a carbine was heard, and immediately after, another and another.

"Oh heavens! they have killed him, they have killed him!" exclaimed Miss Cameron, covering her face with her hands, and throwing herself into a seat, in an agony of horror and despair. "They have murdered him, the ruthless savages. Oh Malcolm, my beloved Malcolm! that you had never loved me, that you had never looked on this fatal face!—for it is I, and I alone, that have been the cause of your cruel and untimely death." And here the violence of her feelings choked her utterance, and she burst into a flood of tears.

Fortunately Captain Stubbs was too intently occupied in watching the proceedings of the party who were in pursuit of the fugitive, to hear all that Miss Cameron had permitted to escape her in her agony; or, indeed, to notice her distress at all. Quizzing-glass in hand, he was employed in looking at the chase, and ever and anon giving utterance to the various feelings which its various turns excited.

"Ha, you've pinned him at last, serjeant," muttered the captain, in his own peculiar and elegant phraseology, on perceiving the fugitive stumble and fall, immediately after a carbine had been discharged at him by the officer just named.

"No, you blind rascal," again muttered Stubbs, on seeing the fallen man taking once more to his feet, and clearing hedges and ditches with an activity that sufficiently showed he had sustained, at any rate, no serious injury. "You haven't touched him. I'll have you back to the ranks again for that, you scoundrel, or my name's not Stubbs." And, after a moment's pause—"Ay, ay, you villain," he added, "he's off, he's off; you'll never get within shot of him again. Hang me, if I don't get every man of you flogged to death for this!"

When Captain Stubbs said the fugitive had escaped, he was right. The nature of the ground had been all along greatly in his favour, being so interspersed and encumbered with hedges, ditches, walls, and trees, that the dragoons had little or no chance of ever being able to overtake him, should he escape their carbines; and these had hitherto been discharged at him without effect.

The last effort of the fugitive—that which secured his final escape, and which had called forth the expressions of Captain Stubbs' displeasure—was his plunging into a thick plantation that grew on the face of a steep and rocky hill, where it was impossible for the troopers to pursue him. The latter finding this, two or three shots were discharged at random into the wood; a volley of oaths followed, and the pursuit was abandoned.

The dragoons turned their horses' heads towards Duntruskin House, where they soon after rejoined their comrades.

During the pursuit, Miss Cameron awaited its result in deep but silent wretchedness, till, aroused by the delightful intelligence communicated involuntarily by Stubbs, that the fugitive yet lived—

"He is not killed, then!" she exclaimed, in a paroxysm of rapture, starting from her seat, her face flushed with joy, and her soft dark eye beaming with inexpressible happiness. "He is not killed, then!" she said, rushing wildly to the window. "Oh, thank God, thank God for his mercies!" she exclaimed, on perceiving that the fugitive appeared to be still unhurt, and that he was continuing his exertions to escape, with unabated energy.

Unable, however, to look longer upon the doubtful and critical struggle between the pursuers and the pursued, she had again retired from the window, and again her fears for the eventual safety of her lover had returned. These, however, Captain Stubbs' latter exclamations had once more removed.

"Off! is he off?" she wildly repeated, taking up the words in which the joyful event had been communicated; and she again flew to the window. "Dear Captain Stubbs," she exclaimed—forgetting in the excitation of the moment all former feelings and antipathies regarding him she addressed—"is he indeed off? Has—has"—and she was about to pronounce the name of M'Gregor, when a sudden recollection of the imprudence of doing so struck her, and she merely added, "has the man really escaped?" Having quickly satisfied herself that it was so, Miss Cameron, unable longer to control the warm and overflowing sense of gratitude which she felt towards the Omnipotent Being who had protected the beloved object of her affections in the moment of peril, clasped her hands together, looked upwards with a countenance strongly expressive of thankfulness and joy, and breathed a short but fervent prayer of thanksgiving.

The scene was one which Stubbs could not comprehend. He thought it very odd, but he said nothing. In a few seconds after, Grace left the apartment—a step to which she was urged by two motives. Captain Stubbs had threatened that he would instantly go himself, with his whole troop, on foot, to search the wood in which the fugitive had concealed himself—a measure which, if executed, would almost certainly secure the capture of M'Gregor, or, at least, render it a very probable event. The other motive, proceeding from this circumstance, was, to see whether she could not fall on any means of preventing the threatened expedition.

On leaving the apartment, Grace met the serjeant on his way to Captain Stubbs, to make his report of the proceeding in which he had just been engaged. Without well knowing for what precise purpose, but with some general idea that she might prevail on him, by some means or other, to second her views in defeating the object of Stubbs' proposed search, she stopped him, and hurriedly conducted him into an unoccupied apartment.

"Oh, serjeant!" she exclaimed, in great agitation, and scarcely knowing what she said, "will you—will you do me a favour—a great favour, serjeant? For God's sake, do not refuse me!"

The man looked at her in utter amazement.

"Your captain," continued Grace, "proposes renewing the pursuit of the person that has just escaped you. I am interested in that person. Now, serjeant, will you do what you can to prevent this search taking place, or to render it unavailing if it does?" And with these last words she put a purse, containing ten guineas, into the serjeant's hand.

The man looked from the gift to the giver, and again from the latter to the former, in silent astonishment, for several seconds. At length—

"Why, miss," he said, "since you are in such a taking about this matter, and as I don't mind a poor fellow's escaping now and then, I will do what I can to serve you in the case." And he put the purse into his pocket.

"Oh, thank you, serjeant, thank you!—God bless you for these words!" said Grace, in a rapture of joy. "But how—how, serjeant, will you manage it?"

"Oh, leave me alone for that, miss," replied the latter; "I knows how to manage it, and I'll do it effectually, I warrant you. I can send captain in any direction I please on the shortest notice. He don't like the smell of gunpowder, though he be a soldier; and, when he can, always follows the wind that brings it."

In a few minutes after, Serjeant Higginbotham was in the presence of the pink of chivalry, Captain Stubbs. Having informed the latter briefly of the result of the pursuit, he added, that, when he was out, he had seen "something suspicious."

"What was it?" inquired Stubbs, in a tone and with a look of alarm.

"Why, sir," responded the serjeant, "a crowd of people assembled on the face of the hill where the fellow escaped us."

"The devil! Are they rebels, think you, serjeant?" said the captain, with increased perturbation.

"And, please your honour, I think as how there is no doubt of it," replied Higginbotham.

"In great force, you say, serjeant?" added Stubbs; "in overwhelming force—madness to attack them—you can depone on oath before a court-martial?"

"To be sure I can, sir," rejoined the former.

"That's a good fellow; order my horse to the door instantly, and let the men fall in."

These orders were immediately obeyed; and in the next instant Captain Stubbs appeared at the door.

"In what direction are these rascals?" he said, addressing the serjeant, as he was about to mount his charger.

"In that direction, your honour," replied the latter, pointing towards the place of M'Gregor's concealment.

"Ah!" ejaculated Captain Stubbs; and, in a moment after, he was in full gallop, followed by his whole troop, in the opposite direction.

We should certainly fail, were we to attempt to describe the joy of Grace Cameron when she beheld the departure of the dragoons. That joy, as will readily be believed, was extreme.

For some time after the troopers had left the house, Grace continued to keep her eye on the spot where M'Gregor had disappeared, in the hope that he would again show himself. Nor was she mistaken. Malcolm appeared also to have been able to see from his hiding-place the departure of the soldiers; for they had not been more than a quarter-of-an-hour gone, when he again appeared at the skirts of the wood where he had been concealed, and made towards the house. On recognising him, Grace hastened out to meet him.

This meeting we need not describe, as it very much resembled all other meetings of a similar kind—only that it was, perhaps, a little more interesting, from the peculiar situation of the parties. The lovers had much to say to each other, and much was said in a very small space of time. Amongst other things, Malcolm informed Grace that it was his intention to request her father for an asylum for three or four days, when, he said, it was his intention to proceed to the coast, and to endeavour to effect his escape from thence to France.

The asylum that Malcolm requested was readily granted by Mr Cameron, and a place of concealment was found for him, which promised every security—and there was need that it should; for, on the following day, the surrounding country was filled with soldiers, who were everywhere making the strictest search for the fugitive insurgents; and of these several parties had already paid domiciliary visits to Duntruskin House.

The constant state of terror and alarm for the safety of her lover, in which these visits kept Grace Cameron, and the imminent risk he ran of being discovered, at length suggested to the romantic girl an undertaking which well accorded with her strong affection and noble spirit; but which certainly, had it been known, must have appeared to all but herself as utterly hopeless.

On the second day after the occurrence just related, Grace, seizing such an opportunity as she thought favourable for her purpose, suddenly flung her arms around her father's neck, and said, smiling affectionately in his face as she spoke—

"Father, I am going to ask you a favour."

"Well, Grace, my dear," replied he, "I tell you, before you ask it, that, if it be reasonable in itself, and within my power, I shall grant it."

"Thank you, my dear father," said Grace; "but I am afraid you will not think it reasonable. Nevertheless, you must grant it."

"Nay, Grace, that's more than I bargain for," rejoined Mr Cameron, laughing. "But let me know what it is you want, and I shall then be better able to judge of its propriety."

"Well, then, father," replied Grace, "will you allow me to go from home for two days, to take my pony with me—for I mean to travel—and allow Macpherson to accompany me?"

"Where do you propose going to, Grace?" inquired her father, rather gravely.

"That's a question, father," said his daughter, "that relates to a part of the bargain I mean to drive with you which I have not yet arrived at, and which will seem to you the most unreasonable of the whole, I daresay. You must not ask me where I am going to, nor what I'm going to do. On my return, you shall know all."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr Cameron; "why, this is certainly strange, Grace—I don't understand it; and, what is more, I must say I do not like it; but, as I have every reliance on your good sense and discretion, my child, I will grant your request. But I really wish you would tell me what it means; for you cannot suppose that I can be otherwise than uneasy till you return."

"I have your unconditional consent, father, to my terms," said Grace, playfully; "so you must not put any questions; and, as to your being uneasy about me, I assure you there is not the slightest occasion; for my project involves no chance whatever of personal injury to myself."

"Well, well, Grace," replied her father, "since you assure me of that, and since I have certainly given my consent to your request, I will keep my word. You may go when you please."

Delighted with her success, Grace flew to give the necessary orders regarding her intended journey; and amongst these were instructions to Macpherson—a favourite servant of long standing in the family—to have her pony, and a horse for himself, in readiness at an early hour on the following morning. When this hour arrived, it found Grace and her attendant jogging forward, at a pretty round pace, on the road leading to the town of Inverness.

Leaving her to prosecute her mysterious journey, we shall return to Duntruskin House, where a scene was about to occur of no ordinary interest.

On the second day after Grace's departure, a young Irish officer, who had been in the service of the Pretender, and who was well acquainted with both Mr Cameron and M'Gregor—with the latter intimately, as they had served together—arrived at Duntruskin House. He, too, was a fugitive, and was now endeavouring to find his way back to Ireland, and to avoid the numerous military parties that were scouring the country.

This gentleman, whose name was Terence Sullivan, was a genuine Milesian. He was frank, open, generous, warmhearted, and brave to a fault; for he was rash and impetuous, and never stopped an instant to reckon on the odds that might be against him in any case, either of love or war. On he went, reckless of consequences and fearless of results. Terence was thus, in truth, rather a dangerous ally in cases where either caution, deliberation, or forbearance, was necessary, and where their opposites were attended with peril. Such as he was, however, he now appeared at Duntruskin, on his way to the coast for the purpose already mentioned. But Mr Sullivan brought a piece of intelligence with him which it was rather singular he should have fallen in with; and it was intelligence that greatly surprised and alarmed both Cameron and M'Gregor. This was, that the place of concealment of the latter was known, and that he might every moment expect to be apprehended; and, to show that his information was well founded, he described the place of M'Gregor's retreat with such accuracy that it was instantly recognised, and left no doubt that a special information on the subject had been laid by some person or other. Sullivan said that the way in which he came by the intelligence was this:—He had slept on the preceding night in a small public-house, and having been much fatigued, had retired early to bed. This bed was in a recess in the wall, with a sliding-door on its front, which he drew close. Soon after he had lain down, a party of military came to the house in quest of refreshments; and, being shown into the apartment where he lay, he overheard all that passed amongst them; and part of this conversation, he said, was what he had just communicated.

On receiving this startling intelligence, Mr Cameron hastened to inform M'Gregor of his danger, when an earnest conversation ensued between them as to what steps the latter ought now to take to secure his safety.

Leaving them for an instant thus employed, we will return to Terence, who, having been left alone by Mr Cameron while he went to speak with his protegé, had taken his station at a window which overlooked the approach to the house, and was there humming away, with great spirit, one of his lively national airs, when his eye was suddenly caught by the red coats of a party of dragoons advancing towards the house. Terence's eye instantly brightened up with an almost joyous expression when he saw them; for he anticipated some amusement in the way of fighting, as he took it for granted that the house was to be defended to the last extremity. Having at once settled this point, he hurriedly looked about the apartment, to see whether he could not find any eligible weapon wherewith to resist the approaching foe; and in this particular his luck was singularly great indeed. Over the fireplace there hung a rifle gun and a flask of powder, and on the mantelpiece were several bullets that fitted to a hair—the very things wanted. Never was man so fortunate. Delighted beyond measure with his good luck, Terence seized the rifle, loaded it in a twinkling, and again took his place at the window, which he now banged up to its utmost height, and stood ready for mischief; never dreaming that it was at all necessary to consult the master of the house as to the manner in which he meant to receive his visiters, or conceiving that anything else could be thought of in the case but fighting.

"Blessings on them, the darlings! There they are," said Terence to himself, as he stood at the window in the way already described, "as large as life, and as lively as two-year olds." Muttering this, he raised his rifle, and, putting it on full cock, "You'll see now, my jewels," he added, "how beautifully I'll turn over that fellow on the white charger."

He fired, and almost in the same instant the unfortunate man whom he had selected fell lifeless from his horse.

Terence gave a shout of joy and triumph at the success of his shot, and was proceeding with the utmost expedition to reload, when his arm was suddenly seized from behind by Mr Cameron, who, in amazement at his proceedings, and in great distress for their very serious result, which he had seen from another part of the house, had hastened to the apartment where he was.

"Good heavens, Mr Sullivan! what is the meaning of this?—what are you doing?—what have you done?" he exclaimed, in great agitation. "We shall be all put to the sword—by the laws of war, our lives are forfeited. It was foolish—it was madness, Mr Sullivan!"

"Faith, my dear fellow," replied Terence, not a little astonished that his proceedings should have been found fault with, "you may call it what you please; but no man shall ever convince Terence Sullivan that it's either folly or madness to kill an enemy when you can."

At this moment they were joined by M'Gregor; and in the next instant the commanding officer of the troop—a very different man from Stubbs—entered the apartment, with his drawn sword in one hand, and a pistol in the other, and followed by about a dozen of his men; the remainder being drawn up in front of the house.

"Gentlemen," said the officer, on his entrance, "you perceive, I trust, that further resistance will be vain, and can only bring down destruction on your own heads."

"Not so fast, my good fellow—we perceive nothing of the kind," exclaimed Terence, forcibly releasing himself from the grip which Mr Cameron still held of him, and, in the next instant, preparing his rifle for another charge. "Just keep off a bit, and let us have fair play for our money. Shot about, my beautiful fellows. It's all I ask, and no gentleman can refuse so reasonable a request."

"Terence, Terence!" exclaimed Mr Cameron, again laying his hand on the right arm of his hot-headed friend, "listen to me, I beseech you, as a special favour. I request of you, I beg of you, to desist."

"Well, well, my dear fellow," replied Terence, somewhat doggedly, and at the same time resting the butt of his rifle on the floor, "do as you please, only it's a cursed pity you wouldn't allow a few shots to be exchanged between these gentlemen and me, if it were only for the respectability of your own house."

"Don't you know, sir," here interposed the commanding officer of the party, addressing Terence, "that by the laws of war I could——"

"Och, no more of that blarney, if you please, my dear fellow," interrupted Terence, impatiently. "Mr Cameron has told me all about that already."

"If he has, then, sir," said the officer, haughtily, "you know the extent of the obligation you lie under to my clemency."

Terence was about to reply to this insinuation, and probably in no very measured terms, when he was stopped short by Mr Cameron, who dreaded that some immediate act of violence would result from the continuance of this irritating conversation.

"Mr Cameron," said the officer, now proceeding to the real purpose of his visit, "my business here is to make this gentleman"—and he bowed slightly to M'Gregor—"my prisoner, although this is not precisely the spot in which I expected to find him. I feel it to be a painful duty, sir," he said, now directly addressing Malcolm; "but it is unavoidable."

"I am aware of it, sir," replied the latter, "and am obliged by the consideration which induces you to say it is unpleasant to you. I have no doubt it is. I am ready to attend you, sir."

The officer bowed, and now turning to Terence, "You will please, also, sir, consider yourself as my prisoner. Your rashness and folly have placed you in a very precarious predicament. Serjeant," he added, addressing a non-commissioned officer, "remain here, keeping six men with you, with these gentlemen, till I return; and see that you guard against escape."

Saying this, he again bowed, and left the apartment. In a minute after he was mounted, and off with his troop, in pursuit of some object of a similar kind with that which had brought him to Duntruskin.

"This is a devil of a business, Mac," said Terence, when the officer had left the apartment; then sinking his voice, so as to be heard only by Malcolm—"but I think we three might clear the room of these fellows, if we set to it with right good-will. What say you to try? I'll begin."

"Hush," said M'Gregor, under his breath—"madness, Terence, madness. We are fairly in for it, and must just abide the consequences. Our doom is sealed. In plain English, we must hang for it, Terence."

"Faith, and that we won't, if we can help it, Mac; and we'll try whether it can be helped or not," said Terence. "We'll get the fellows drunk, if we can, and that will be always one step gained.—I say, serjeant," he added, now speaking out, and confronting the person he addressed, "I think you're a countryman of my own."

"I don't know, sir," replied the serjeant, in a brogue that at once showed Terence's conjecture was right—"I am from Ireland."

"I thought so," rejoined the latter. "I saw potatoes and butter-milk written on your sweet countenance as plain as a pike-staff. Perhaps, now, you wouldn't have any objection to take a small matter of refreshment yourself, nor to allow your men to partake of it, if our friend, Mr Cameron here, would be kind enough to offer it."

"No, certainly not, sir," replied the serjeant.

"Mr Cameron," continued Terence, and now turning to the person he named, "would ye be good enough to order a little whisky for the lads here; for we'll have a long march of it by and by, and they'll be the better of something to help them over the stones."

A large black bottle of the stimulative spoken of by Terence was instantly brought; when the latter, installing himself master of the ceremonies, seized it, and began to deal about its contents with unsparing liberality.

"Come now, my lads," he said, after having completed three rounds of the black-jack, "make yourselves as comfortable as a rat in a corn-chest. Here's the stuff," he continued, slapping the bottle, and commencing a fourth progress with it, "that'll make ye forget the sins and sorrows of your wicked, lives. Won't it now, serjeant?"

"Troth and it will, sir, I'll be sworn," replied the latter, whose eyes were already twinkling in his head, and his articulation fast thickening into utter unintelligibility; "it's as good for one as a sight of the quartermaster at pay-day."

"Right, serjeant, right," exclaimed Terence; "I see your education hasn't been neglected. You have had some experience of the world, serjeant, and know some of its hardships."

"Faith, and it's yourself, sir, may say that of a man who has been hundreds of times in the saddle thirteen days out of the fortnight; living in the air, as one may say, night and day, and never allowed to put his foot on the ground, no more than if it had been covered with china tea-cups."

"No joke, serjeant—by my faith, no joke," replied Terence; and again he made a round with the bottle, a proceeding which brought matters fairly to a crisis. The faces of the soldiers suddenly became as red as their coats; their eyes began to dance in their heads; and they were now all talking together at the tops of their voices, shouting out at intervals, "Long life and glory" to their entertainer. Nor was the serjeant himself in any better condition than his men; but his genius, under the influence of liquor, took a musical direction, and he began trolling scraps of songs; for, as his memory failed him in almost every instance in these attempts, he was compelled to make up by variety what he wanted in continuous matter. Thus favourably, then, were affairs going on for Terence's design; and there was every appearance that the men would soon be in such a state as should render escape from them a matter of no very difficult accomplishment. But lo! just as the flow of mirth and good-fellowship had attained its height, another serjeant, detached with an additional half-dozen of men, from the troop that had visited the house in the morning, suddenly entered the apartment, with orders from the commanding officer, to the effect that the party which had been left with the prisoners should proceed immediately to Fort George with Sullivan, and that they themselves were to remain with M'Gregor till their officer came.

This, as will readily be believed, was by no means welcome intelligence, as it threatened to render the attempt to unfit the soldiers for their duty abortive, in so far as the object of doing so was concerned. This, indeed, it fully effected as regarded Malcolm's escape, since he was to be left behind; while it rendered Terence's much more precarious than if the debauch had been allowed to proceed.

Terence, however, did not feel that all chance of escape was yet lost. He hoped that what he had not had time to effect at Duntruskin, he should be able to accomplish while they were on the march; and he resolved to watch with the utmost vigilance for such an opportunity as was necessary to success in his intended attempt.

In the meantime, preparations were made, in obedience to the order just received, for the march of Terence's escort with their prisoner. An affecting parting now took place between M'Gregor and Sullivan, especially on the part of the former, who deemed it a last farewell—an opinion, however, in which he was by no means joined by his friend, who, with the natural buoyancy of his disposition, and cheerful and sanguine temper, entertained strong hopes of being able to give his guards the slip; and he bade Malcolm good-by with all the hilarity of manner and brightness of countenance which these hopes inspired.

The drunken troopers now staggered out of the apartment one after the other—their swords tripping them at every step, and several of them with their caps turned the wrong way—next came Terence, and lastly the serjeant, trolling, as he left the room—

M'Gregor went to the window, to see what he had no doubt was the last of his poor friend, Sullivan—and he soon had this melancholy satisfaction. In a few minutes, the party appeared proceeding down the avenue, with Terence in the centre, mounted on one of the dragoon's horses—a favour which his uproarious good-fellowship at Duntruskin had procured for him. He caught a sight of Malcolm just as he and his escort were about to take a turn in the road that would conceal them from each other, and waved an adieu, accompanied by one of his characteristic shouts, which, though plainly enough indicated by his gestures, was, from the distance, unheard by him for whose edification it was intended.

In about an hour after the departure of Terence Sullivan, the commanding officer of the party, who had been at Duntruskin House in the morning, appeared riding up the avenue at the head of his troop. In a few minutes afterward, he was again in the apartment with M'Gregor.

"We will now proceed, sir, if you please," he said, on entering. "Are you ready?"

"I believe I must say I am, sir," replied Malcolm, with as much composure as he could command.

"Nay," said the officer, who marked his agitation; "you need not say you are, if you are not. Is there anything you wish yet done before you go? Any one you wish to see?"

"There is—there is one I wish to see, sir—one to whom I should have wished to have bidden farewell," said Malcolm, with an emotion which he could not conceal; "but I know not when she may be here, and——"

"She is here, Malcolm—she is here," said Grace, at this instant rushing into the apartment.

Malcolm flew towards her. "God be thanked, Grace, you are come! I would have been miserable, if I had not seen you before I went. A few minutes later, Grace, and we should never have beheld each other more. We have now met," he added, "for the last time."

"No, no, Malcolm; we have not, we have not," said Grace, hurriedly, and in great agitation, taking a letter from her bosom, which, with a blush and a curtsey, she presented to Major Ormsby—the name of the officer already so often alluded to. He bowed as he received it; and, unfolding it, began to read. The perusal did not occupy him an instant. The matter was short but effective. Having read it, he advanced towards Malcolm with extended hand, and said—

"Allow me, sir, to congratulate you on your restoration to freedom, and to an immunity from all danger on account of certain late transactions which you wot of." And, as he said this, he smiled significantly. "You are at liberty, Mr M'Gregor. I have no more control over you, and have therefore to regret that I shall not have the pleasure of your company to Fort-George, as I expected."

"What does all this mean, sir?" inquired Malcolm, in the utmost amazement.

"Why, sir, it means simply that you are a free man," replied Major Ormsby. "And here is at once my authority for saying so and my warrant for releasing you." And he read:—

"This is to discharge all officers of his majesty's government, civil and military, and all other persons whatsoever, from apprehending, or in any other ways molesting, Malcolm M'Gregor, Esq. of Strontian, for his concern in the late rebellion; and, if he be already taken, this shall be sufficient warrant for those detaining him to set him at liberty, which they are hereby required to do forthwith.

"Grace," exclaimed Malcolm, in a transport of joy, when Major Ormsby had concluded, "this is your doing, noble and generous girl. It is to you, and to you alone, that I am indebted for life and liberty. But how, how on earth, Grace, did you accomplish it?" he added, taking her affectionately by the hand.

The explanation was a brief one. She had gone to Inverness—had sought and obtained an interview with the Duke of Cumberland—had implored him for a pardon to her lover, and to the amazement of those who were present on the occasion, had succeeded. Her youth, her beauty, the natural eloquence of her appeal, and the romance of the circumstance altogether, had touched the merciless conqueror, and had betrayed him for once into an act of humanity and generosity.

After partaking of some refreshment, Major Ormsby with his troop left Duntruskin, and the happiness of Malcolm would have been complete only for one circumstance. This was the miserable situation of his poor friend, Sullivan; presenting, as it did, such a contrast to his own. This, however, was a ground of unhappiness which was soon and most unexpectedly to be removed. In less than two hours after the departure of Major Ormsby, as Malcolm, Miss Cameron, and her father were sitting together, talking over the events of the preceding two or three days, to their inexpressible amazement, Sullivan suddenly burst into the apartment, with a loud shout.

"Haven't I done them, after all, Malcolm?" He exclaimed—"done them beautifully! Didn't I tell you, now, I would give the drunken rogues the slip somewhere? Och! and just give me a bottle of whisky in my fist, and I'll take in hand to bother a saint, let alone a serjeant of dragoons."

We need not describe the joy of the party whom Terence on this occasion addressed, when he appeared amongst them. It was very great, and very sincere. Terence, however, was immediately hurried off by M'Gregor, who dreaded an instant return of the dragoons in quest of him, to a place of concealment at a little distance from the house, where he remained for two days, when he was secretly conveyed by his friend to the coast, and embarked on board a small wherry, hired for the purpose, for his native land, where he arrived in safety on the evening of the following day.

Within a year after these occurrences, Grace Cameron was fully better known in the country by the name of Mrs M'Gregor, than by that which we have just written.