In every life there is perhaps one day that stands out from the others as the happiest day—­one day in which the cup of joy seems full to the brim; it is not generally a day of powerful emotions, but of unbroken peace, sunshine, love, sweetness and the glory of life.

Such a day had dawned for fair Betty Ives.  It was not so unbroken for her betrothed:  now and then a look of care overcast his brow, and now and then his hands clenched themselves with a slight nervous movement.  All through the day he paid her a courtship so tender, so deferential, so loving, it might have been a votary addressing his saint, a courtier waiting on his queen; and as the hour advanced, and the time of departure drew near, his attentions became yet more tender, more wistful.

They visited the horses and the dogs, gave bread to the shy young gazelle that John was endeavouring to tame, to offer to his bride.  Then he suddenly drew her aside, and while Mr. Ives and Mary Jones strolled onwards to the garden, he took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door of a loose box which he had passed by hitherto.

“Here lives my best treasure, sweetheart,” he said.  “You must travel far, and look wide, ere you meet with his match.”

Betty looked in, and her eyes fell on a magnificent white horse.  It would have needed an experienced eye fully to appreciate the strength and symmetry of its proportions; to Betty he looked beautiful, and words failed to describe her admiration.

“Strange that I have never chanced to see you ride him,” she said.  “I recognised at once the brown mare and the two chestnuts, and the bay with a white star, but this one I have never seen.”

“No, I never hunt Seagull,” he answered thoughtfully.  “I owe him my life not once, but over and over again.”

“Seagull!” exclaimed Betty.  “Is not that the name of Wild Jack’s famous white horse?”

“Yes, he was named after him.  I bethought myself that my Seagull was as noble an animal as Wild Jack’s.”

“I am sure that he has not his equal in the wide world!” cried Betty.

John Johnstone turned suddenly to her and said:  “Do you still keep up your interest in that poor sinner Wild Jack, sweet Bet? or has it died away in your gentle breast?”

“I shall never forget our first, and (heaven grant) our last interview,” she answered with a smile.  “How he justified my trust in him!”

“Poor Jack,” said John Johnstone thoughtfully.  “I knew Jack well once; you were right to have faith in him.  He has done good service to the Cause.  Look you, dear, he never took purse or papers on the king’s highway, but in the king’s name who is over the seas; he never injured woman or shot an unnecessary shot—­keep your sympathy with Jack.  And now,” he said, throwing back his head with an odd look of defiance and pride—­“now there is a reward of five hundred pounds offered for Wild Jack’s body living or dead.  They place a high price on the head of one, whom, to his honour, they dub traitor as well as highwayman!”