‘I minded naething mair until I wakened as it were frae a sleep, and looking up saw Mary and Willie hanging owre me greetin’. My mind during the rest o’ that day was a’ confusion; I mind something about soldiers comin’ for Willie, and me takin’ fareweel o’ him, and gieing him this Bible, and seein’ his sister clasped in his arms; but there was something cauld at my heart, I had lost my natural feelin’. I fand as if I had swallowed laudanum. In the middle o’ the night I wakened frae a fearfu’ dream—I had seen my Willie torn frae me, and stretchin’ out his hands to me for help; but he was dragged frae my sight—again he appeared to me, pale and bluidy, and his claiths dreepin’ wat. I sprang forward to catch him in my arms; but before I could reach him he fell on the floor; the scream that I gied wakened me, and I fand mysel’ standin’ at my bedside, for I had jumped out in the distress o’ my mind. I had nae clear notion o’ ony thing; but I had a confused thought that there was something wrang wi’ my Willie, and I staggered into the wee room where he sleepit—I hearken’d to hear his breath, but a’ was hush’d—I grew fearfu’ anxious, and to satisfy mysel’ I stretched my hand on the bed, to feel if he was there; but there was naebody in’t—the claes were na ruffled, and the cauld feel o’ the quilt affected my heart, as if it had been squeezed between twa pieces o’ ice. I sunk on the bed—What can a’ this mean? said I to mysel’, and the truth gradually opened on my mind. O ay, it’s owre true,—ye’re gane, Willie,—ye’ve left me; what for did ye no tell me before ye took sic a rash step? O Willie, will I never see you again?—What mischief that glaiket, heartless hizzie has done. May she be made to suffer—but I stopped mysel’ in the rash wish—there was nae need for’t—poor wretch, she was fast fillin’ the bitter cup for hersel’. ‘I was sittin’ in this way, mournin’ for my bairn, until I had forgotten where I was, when I was started by somebody sabbin’ by my side. “In God’s name, wha’s that?” “It’s me, mother,” said Mary, “are ye no comin’ to your bed?” “O ay, my bairn; I wish the Lord may keep me in my natural senses, for I find my head no right ava.” Mary tried to comfort me, but, poor thing, she needed comfort as much as mysel’. I need scarcely gang farther wi’ my story, my heart never raise aboon’t.