The snow caused universal regret, for various excursions had been in progress—some for visiting the ruined castle at Piteadie; some for riding as far as Lochleven; and others, farther still, to see the fragments that remain of the old abbey of Balmerino. The Countess and her daughter, arrayed in a charming morning toilette, appeared just as the roar of the gong summoned us to a Scottish breakfast; and of the splendours of such a repast, what gourmand hath not heard? There were venison, mutton, cold grouse, and ptarmigan, rizzard haddocks from the Firth of Forth, salmon from the Tay, and honey from the Lomond hills; a _liqueur_-stand, containing whisky and brandy, stood at Sir Nigel’s right hand. At one end of the table was tea, presided over by Cora; at the other, where Miss Wilford officiated, was coffee. Over the snowy landscape a glorious flood of sunshine was pouring through the stone mullions of the oriel windows, casting shadows of the old and leafless trees far across the waste of dazzling white. I had the pleasure of being seated by the side of Lady Loftus, and we chatted away pleasantly of people whom we had met, and places where we had been. The links of the old chain were being rapidly taken up, and every time I looked into the quiet depths of her dark eyes I felt a strong emotion pass over mine. Berkeley sat on her other side, but I could perceive that she was politely reserved with him; so the art of impudence, an art which he had studied carefully, had availed him but little after the use to which he had put it last night. "And you go to the East with pleasure?" she asked, casually, after a pause. "With pleasure, and yet with one great regret," said I, as I lightly touched her hand. "And this regret, is it a secret?" "It cannot be spoken of here; and yet a little explanation—one word, it may be—shall send me away the happiest fellow in the Crimean expedition." "Take courage," she said, in a low voice, that made my heart leap with hope and anticipation. "Newton, what are you and Lady Loftus talking about so impressively? But, perhaps, I should not inquire," said my uncle, as he carved the cold grouse, and a faint shade of annoyance flitted over the pale face of my companion. "Well, Sir Nigel," I replied, "I was simply about to say that ere we see such a breakfast as this again, we shall have had a rough turn with the Russians, and talked polyglot-wise with fellows of all nations in the allied camp; have drunk sherbet, perhaps, with the Sultan, ogled his ladies at the gilded lattices, and smoked a _chibouque_ with Giafar, Mesrour, and other friends of the Commander of the Faithful." The flow of my spirits contrasted somewhat with the ebb of Berkeley’s. He sat silent, and pulled from time to time his long moustaches and whiskers, which were mingled together—the envy of our apple-cheeked cornets.