Whether it was the yell or not, the horse recovered from the slight
stumble: and no harm befel the two daring travellers.

"These vehicles give one some excitement," Macleod said--or rather
roared, for Piccadilly was full of carriages. "A squall in Loch Scridain
is nothing to them."

"You'll get used to them in time," was the complacent answer.

They dismissed the hansom at the corner of Piccadilly, and walked up
Park Lane, so as to avoid waiting in the rank of carriages. Macleod
accompanied his companion meekly. All this scene around him--the
flashing lights of the broughams, the brilliant windows, the stepping
across the pavement of a strangely dressed dignitary from some foreign
land--seemed but some other part of that dream from which he had not
quite shaken himself free. His head was still full of the sorrows and
coquetries of that wild-spirited heroine. Whither had she gone by this
time--away into some strange valley of that unknown world?

He was better able than Mr. Ogilvie to push his way through the crowd of
footmen who stood in two lines across the pavement in front of
Beauregard House, watching for the first appearance of their master or
mistress; but he resignedly followed, and found himself in the avenue
leading clear up to the steps. They were not the only arrivals, late as
the hour was. Two young girls, sisters, clad in cream-white silk with a
gold fringe across their shoulders and sleeves, preceded them; and he
was greatly pleased by the manner in which these young ladies, on
meeting in the great hall an elderly lady who was presumably a person of
some distinction, dropped a pretty little old-fashioned courtesy as they