“That would be but a pagan sacrifice,” said Mary.

“What would you do in such desperate circumstances?” demanded Lady Emily.

“I would hope,” answered Mary, meekly.

“But in poor Mrs. Lennox’s case that would be to hope though hope were lost; for what can she hope for now?  She has still something to fear, however, as I believe she has still one son remaining, who is in the brunt of every battle; of course she has nothing to expect but accounts of his death.”

“But she may hope that heaven will preserve him, and—­”

“That you will marry him.  That would do excellently well, for he is as brave as a real Highlander, though he has the misfortune to be only half a one.  His father, General Lennox, was a true Scot to the very tip of his tongue, and as proud and fiery as any chieftain need be. His death, certainly was an improvement in the family.  But there is Rose Hall, with its pretty shrubberies and nice parterres, what do you say to becoming its mistress?”

“If I am to lay snares,” answered Mary, laughing, “it must be for nobler objects than hedgerow elms and hillocks green.”

“Oh, it must be for black crags and naked hills!  Your country really does vastly well to rave about!  Lofty mountains and deep glens, and blue lakes and roaring rivers, are mighty fine-sounding things; but I suspect cornfields and barnyards are quit as comfortable neighbours; so take my advice and marry Charles Lennox.”

Mary only answered by singing, “My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,” etc., as the carriage drew up.

“This is the property of Mrs. Lennox,” said Lady Emily, in answer to some remark of her companion’s; “she is the last of some ancient stock; and you see the family taste has been treated with all due respect.”

Rose Hall was indeed perfectly English:  it was a description of place of which there are none in Scotland; for it wore the appearance of antiquity, without the too usual accompaniments of devastation or decay; neither did any incongruities betray vicissitude of fortune or change of owner; but the taste of the primitive possessor seemed to have been respected through ages by his descendants; and the ponds remained as round, and the hedges as square, and the grass walks as straight, as the day they had been planned.  The same old-fashioned respectability was also apparent in the interior of the mansion.  The broad heavy oaken staircase shone in all the lustre of bees’ wax; and the spacious sitting-room into which they were ushered had its due allowance of Vandyke portraits, massive chairs, and china jars, standing much in the same positions they had been placed in a hundred years before.