part I am overpowered by the beauty of York.

The train soon bore them to their next stopping-place, “Durham’s Gothic shade,” and here Miss Cavendish became eloquent and declared her allegiance given. “It is so splendidly and simply Norman. Look at those ponderous columns, that combination of mightiness and simplicity, and to think that here lie the bones of the Venerable Bede and of St. Cuthbert. Then its history. Think of the Prelate of Durham so splendidly placed in his fortress, really a sovereign who was rivalled by only one other, the Bishop of Ely on his island. Then there is that pretty legend of how the monks of Lindisfarne were led to the site by a dun cow. You may have your Lincoln imp, Gabriella, it just suits you, but give me the staid and historic dun cow. As soon as we get to Edinburgh I shall sally forth and buy a copy of Scott’s poems. You remember in ‘Marmion’ that it says:

“‘And after many wanderings past He chose his lordly seat at last Where his cathedral huge and vast, Looks down upon the Wear.’”

“So this is the Wear,” said Sidney, “and a beautiful site it is indeed for a cathedral. I am almost tempted to grant that it satisfies me as well as York, yet it doesn’t quite.”

“How satisfactory it is for each of us to have a different cathedral,” said Gabriella; “it makes it much more interesting.”

“Gem must have a little mooly cow to match your imp,” said Sidney. And when they left the town a tiny silver effigy of Durham’s historic dun cow was hanging from Miss Cavendish’s lorgnette chain. To Gabriella Sidney had already presented the most grotesque imp that Lincoln could furnish, and for her own satisfaction she had a pile of photographs of York Minster.

They climbed the hill to the railway station, well pleased that they had not left out of their trip the three cathedral towns which had given them such delight. “I wish we could have seen other cathedrals,” Miss Cavendish remarked as they left Durham behind them.

“Oh, but consider how hopelessly mixed up we would be,” returned Gabriella. “Now each of us is entirely satisfied, for we have just one apiece; there is no dividing of our affections, no half-heartedness in the devotion each gives to her own. Possibly there may be others as fine as Lincoln, but I shall never know it, and I am happy.”

“I will venture to say that there is none with a more romantic history, nor which has such literary associations as Durham,” rejoined Miss Cavendish.

“And I don’t believe there is such stained glass in any of them as in York,” Sidney put in, and then they laughed and settled back in their places to look upon the fast-fading landscape. Along a cold but interesting coast their route lay for most of the journey. Once in a while they caught glimpses of a steely blue sea, of ships far out, of stretches of sandy beaches or green clad cliffs, and by nine o’clock they were in Edinburgh.

A genial old cabman landed them safely at their lodgings in a clean, comfortable house, from the window of which they could look over the roofs of houses to the castle which crowned the hill beyond.

“It is going to be fascinating; I feel it,” announced Gabriella, taking her first peep the next morning from her window. “The dear grey city is going to enthrall me. It is not so big but that we can take it in and become friendly with it and its castle. It is a good thing to have a castle as part of the view, for then you feel as if the city had not parted with its history; you feel that its links to the past have not been broken by the sledge-hammer of modernity.”

“Who is making fine speeches?” said Sidney, coming in at that moment. “We must hurry, mustn’t we? if we want to see the soldiers. We must be at St. Giles’s by nine, you know. Don’t stop to prink, Gabriella.”

“If there ever was an occasion that called for prinking it is when I am to attract the gaze of the Black Watch,” returned Gabriella.

“But they’ll get there before we do, if we don’t hurry, and we want to see them marching in.”

Owing to Gabriella’s prinking they were late and the Highlanders were in their places by the time the church was reached, so it was not till after the hearty singing of “Onward, Christian soldiers,” in which all joined, and the service was over that the girls had their chance of seeing swinging kilts and swaying bonnets all in line. “Aren’t they the loveliest ever?” whispered Gabriella as they stood on the pavement outside. “I’d like to take one home with me just to keep and look at. See that dickey little officer’s claymore; what a perfect beauty of a cairngorm he has.”

“We must follow them up to the castle,” declared Sidney, no less eager than Gabriella. “It is ever so long before it will be time to go to St. Cuthbert’s, and we’ve nothing else to do.” So up the hill they followed the swinging line to see the red coats and tartans disappear under the grey stone gateway. But they lingered to look down from the parapet upon the town and were rewarded by sight of a company under inspection.

“It is a picture, a perfect picture,” exclaimed Gabriella. “See that officer coming out from the castle, isn’t he fine? It is the same one who had that beauty cairngorm.”

“Yes, and he is quite aware that he is a thing of beauty himself,” remarked Miss Cavendish.

“Never mind, he is a joy forever, and if I could wear a tartan, carry a claymore, and have such a lovely swinging bonnet as that I’d be puffed up, too. I don’t blame him one bit. I am afraid, Gem, that I shall spend all the time we are here in running after the soldiers.”

“I never expected to be crazy over the military,” said Sidney, “but I must say I never saw anything so fascinating as this uniform, nor a finer set of men.”

“Come away, come away, you two,” laughed Miss Cavendish, “or you will lose your wits. It is time we were starting for church if we expect to hear ‘wee Jimmy McGregor’ preach to-day.” And with many a backward look they went down the hill to be set upon by a horde of street urchins who would fain show them the “Boby Burruns” house, but whom they smilingly passed by.

“You girls are not living up to your opportunities,” Miss Cavendish reproached her companions. “I don’t believe that you allowed either your eyes or your thoughts to wander for one moment from those soldiers. I don’t believe that you appreciated the fact that it was in St. Giles’s that Jenny Geddes threw her stool at Dean Hanna, nor that you were near the very site of the Heart of Midlothian when you came away. You were simply bent upon tagging soldiers and I couldn’t get at you.”

“We can hear about Jenny Geddes any time,” returned Gabriella, “but when again will we see Gordon’s Forty-second coming home from service?”

“In the graveyard of St. Cuthbert’s we shall find the graves of De Quincey and--”

“There goes one,” interrupted Sidney as she caught sight of a swaying kilt and a pair of bare knees on the other side of the street. And Miss Cavendish gave up in despair.