It was she who had egged on her father to rent this Highland castle for the summer, instead of chartering a yacht as he had done for the past few years; and ever since they had come here that sentiment had grown, till she was ready to don the white cockade and plot a new Jacobite uprising.

Then, while her heart was in this inspired condition, a noble young chief had stepped in to complete the story.

No wonder her dark eyes burned.
"What attachment you must feel for each stone of the Castle!" she continued in a rapt voice.

"How your heart must beat to remember that your great-grandfather--wasn't his name Fergus ?" "Fergus: yes," said the Baron, blindly but promptly.
"No, no; it was Ian, of course." "Ach, so! Ian he vas." "You were thinking of his father," she smiled.
"Yes, his fazzer." She reflected sagely.
"I am afraid I get my facts mixed up some times.

Ian--ah, Reginald came before him--not Fergus!" "Reginald--oh yes, so he did!" She looked a trifle disappointed.
"If I were you I should know them all by heart," said she.
"I vill learn zem.