"Mr. Moore," she said, coming forward without any kind of embarrassment,
"there's an old custom--didn't my brother tell you?--you must take a
little gift from some one in the house, just as you are going away, for
good luck. You haven't yet? Here it is, then."
"It is exceedingly kind of you," said he; "and I wish I could make the
omen come true; but I have no such hope. I know I am going to miss."
"You are going to kill a stag!" said she, confidently. "That is what you
are going to do. Well, good-bye, and good-luck!"
So the little party of three--Lionel, Roderick, and the attendant
gillie--straightway left the lodge and began to make for the head of the
strath. And it was not altogether about deer that Lionel was now
thinking. The tiny, thin packet he held in his hand seemed to burn
there. What was it Honnor Cunyngham had brought down-stairs for him?
However trivial it might be, surely it was something he could keep. She
had given it to him for good luck; but her wishes were not confined to
this one day? Then, when he had got some distance from the house, so
that his curiosity could not be observed, he threw the reins on Maggie's
neck, and proceeded to open this small packet covered with white paper.
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