experience who has not outwatched all the stars, and greeted the sunrise-with study or pleasure as his aim? Midnight was coming. The most energetic girls were growing weary. Amy Chatterton was sound asleep in a corner, and a servant carried her to bed. Grace Greenland was taking some weak preparation of alcohol (punch by courtesy) from the hands of a very elegant young gentleman who was patiently waiting for a commission. He was trying very hard to say to her something witty or pretty, but he was very nearly asleep, and she, to judge from her drooping eyelids, quite. Laura Bronté was in rather a fix, for our young friend Silvester had got hold of her. Imagining himself a judge of character, and seeing that hers was peculiar, he was trying to find her out. So he had taken her out into the garden, and was conducting his catechism on a garden seat close 'by Donald's summerhouse. Her replies were so singularly insipid that 1 Silvester grew tired, and asked her if she would go in. No, she would enjoy the fresh air a little longer. So off he went, and three people rejoiced to see him go. When he had entered the house, Joyce came forward from the shade of some shrubs, and touched her on the shoulders. "Come!" he said. They walked away together, down the village street. Donald emerged from his concealment and followed them. He had been a deer-stalker, and had perfect vision; he could tread heather as lightly as a hare. The bigger the man, the lighter the tread. Easily he kept the Reverend J. J. and Miss Laura in sight, and saw them turn to the right towards Silchester Leigh. Still he followed. They reached the narrow lane leading to the palace. They turned down to the gate. Donald could hear the key grate in the lock. He waited awhile till there seemed reason to believe they had reached the tower. Then he bottles. 1 scaled the wall. He could see a bright light burning in the first storey of the tower, through windows that were mere arrow-slits. The building was covered with ancient ivy, its stalks the thickness of a man's leg. Donald climbed deftly up, and peered through. The sight which he saw astonished him. The wretched room had been made quite comfortable, and on the table was a copious refection, with many bottles. Joyce was sitting in an easy chair; the girl stood before him, in the low dress she had worn for the dance, pale as a wood anemone, apparently answering his questions. Keen as were the Highlander's ears, he could catch only a syllable now and then. Joyce looked angry; Laura looked frightened. Suddenly the reverend gentleman exclaimed, “You fool!" and took up a light cane from the table, and gave her several strokes across the shoulders. Donald could not stand this. "You brute!" he yelled in a terrific voice through the window, and dropped to the ground and was over the wall before Joyce could have got downstairs. If he had stayed to observe the result of his cry, he would have seen Joyce dead faint in his chair, and Laura trying her best to revive him. For Joyce was superstitious, and thought this must be something preternatural. As to Donald, he returned to report. He would have twisted the Reverend J. J.'s neck, only he had contrary orders. CHAPTER VII. A THE DORMITORY DEBATES. "Fancy a bevy of little girls Pearls Lying in bed 'mid a strange event Sent Just to give their little wits Fits! Would it surprise you should it keep Sleep Far away from the pillows white NOTHER surprise next day for the usually quiet and staid seminary of Silchester. Morning prayers late, of course, seeing that the young ladies had been up from three to four hours after their time, dancing as schoolgirls only dance: morning prayers indeed |