“Fear me not,” said Allan, interrupting her,--“my mind is now constant and calm.--But for you, young lord,” said he, turning to Lord Menteith, “my eye has sought you through fields of battle, where Highlanders and Lowlanders lay strewed as thick as ever the rooks sat on those ancient trees,” pointing to a rookery which was seen from the window--“my eye sought you, but your corpse was not there--my eye sought you among a train of unresisting and disarmed captives, drawn up within the bounding walls of an ancient and rugged fortress;--flash after flash--platoon after platoon--the hostile shot fell amongst them, They dropped like the dry leaves in autumn, but you were not among their ranks;--scaffolds were prepared--blocks were arranged, saw-dust was spread--the priest was ready with his book, the headsman with his axe--but there, too, mine eye found you not.” “The gibbet, then, I suppose, must be my doom?” said Lord Menteith. “Yet I wish they had spared me the halter, were it but for the dignity of the peerage.” He spoke this scornfully, yet not without a sort of curiosity, and a wish to receive an answer; for the desire of prying into futurity frequently has some influence even on the minds of those who disavow all belief in the possibility of such predictions. “Your rank, my lord, will suffer no dishonour in your person, or by the manner of your death. Three times have I seen a Highlander plant his dirk in your bosom--and such will be your fate.” “I wish you would describe him to me,” said Lord Menteith, “and I shall save him the trouble of fulfilling your prophecy, if his plaid be passible to sword or pistol.” “Your weapons,” said Allan, “would avail you little; nor can I give you the information you desire. The face of the vision has been ever averted from me.” “So be it then,” said Lord Menteith, “and let it rest in the uncertainty in which your augury has placed it. I shall dine not the less merrily among plaids, and dirks, and kilts to-day.” “It may be so,” said Allan; “and, it may be, you do well to enjoy these moments, which to me are poisoned by auguries of future evil. But I,” he continued--“I repeat to you, that this weapon--that is, such a weapon as this,” touching the hilt of the dirk which he wore, “carries your fate.” “In the meanwhile,” said Lord Menteith, “you, Allan, have frightened the blood from the cheeks of Annot Lyle--let us leave this discourse, my friend, and go to see what we both understand,--the progress of our military preparations.” They joined Angus M’Aulay and his English guests, and, in the military discussions which immediately took place, Allan showed a clearness of mind, strength of judgment, and precision of thought, totally inconsistent with the mystical light in which his character has been hitherto exhibited. CHAPTER VII.