The evening, I remember, was one riot of golden light and rich shadow. The sweet-scented air stole into the room with promise of the fragrant out-of-doors, and together we went out to the lawn and thence down by the trees to the brink of Tweed, and along by the great pool and the water-meadows. The glitter of that brave, romantic stream came on my sight, as a sound of old music comes on the ears, bringing a thousand half-sad, half-joyful memories. All that life held of fair was in it—the rattle and clash of arms, the valour of men, the loveliness of women, the glories of art and song, the wonders of the great mother earth, and the re-creations of the years. And as we walked together, I and my dear lady, in that soft twilight in the green world, a peace, a delight, a settled hope grew upon us, and we went in silence, speaking no word the one to the other. By and by we passed through the garden where the early lilies stood in white battalions, and entered the dining-hall. A band of light lay on the east wall where hung the portraits of my folk. One was a woman, tall and comely, habited in a grey satin gown of antique fashion. "Who was she?" Marjory asked, softly. "She was my mother, a Stewart of Traquair, a noble lady and a good. God rest her soul." "And who is he who stands so firmly and keeps hand on sword?" "That was my father’s brother who stood last at Philiphaugh, when the Great Marquis was overthrown. And he with the curled moustachios was his father, my grandfather, of whom you will yet hear in the countryside. And beyond still is his father, the one with the pale, grave face, and solemn eyes. He died next his king at the rout of Flodden. God rest them all; they were honest gentlemen." Then there was silence for a space, while the light faded, and the old, stately dames looked down at us from their frames with an air, as it seemed to me, all but kindly, as if they laughed to see us playing in the old comedy which they had played themselves. I turned to her, with whom I had borne so many perils. "Dear heart," I said, "you are the best and fairest of them all. These old men and women lived in other times, when life was easy and little like our perplexed and difficult years. Nevertheless, the virtue of old times is the same as for us, and if a man take but the world as he find it, and set himself manfully to it with good heart and brave spirit, he will find the way grow straight under his feet. Heaven bless you, dear, for now we are comrades together on the road, to cheer each other when the feet grow weary."