"When the gleds their nests shall build Where erst the Marischal hung his shield; _Then_ Inverugie by the sea, Lordless shall thy lands be." I am the last of the old line, and there is a conviction in my heart that the prophecy of the Rhymer is about to be fulfilled." But for the well-known bravery, worth, and high spirit of the young subaltern, and the hereditary valour of the house he represented, we might have laughed at his strong faith in such an extremely old prediction--a faith in which, doubtless, his mother, his nurse, and many an old retainer had reared him; but as it was, we heard him in silence, till after a time, when Douglas endeavoured to reason with him on the folly of surrendering himself to such gloomy impressions, but in vain. His mind was sternly made up that he would fall on the morrow, and that he would die with honour to the attainted house he represented among us--the old lords of Inverugie and Dunotter, the earls marischal of Scotland. While I was thinking of this--as we deemed it, fantastic idea--a hand was laid on my shoulder. I looked up and saw Major Shirley, who requested me to accompany him a little way apart. I could perceive by the light of the moon on one hand, and that of our watchfire on the other, that he was remarkably pale and somewhat agitated. "Gauntlet," said he, with a smile, but with a very sickly one, "I have here a letter for you." "From whom?" "Your cousin; a letter which I quite forgot to deliver to you when I joined the army in Paderborn." "This is somewhat odd--you forgot, eh?" "Exactly; very awkward, is it not?" "Rather," said I, somewhat ruffled. "Seven months have elapsed since you came from England, and you only remember it now! Do you recal that you stated she had not sent even a message to me?" "Zounds! 'tis a fact, however odd," he replied, calmly, and in a very subdued voice. "I only bethought me to-night that the letter was in my dressing-case. We are to be engaged to-morrow; I may be knocked on the head as well as another, and thus have no wish to leave even the most trivial duty unfulfilled. You understand me?" "Precisely," said I, with some contempt of manner. "Here is your letter--adieu. I have an order for the Marquis of Granby. Where is his tent?" "On the extreme right of the Inniskilling Dragoons." "Good." He mounted and rode hurriedly away. I saw it all: this simpering staff officer was in love with Aurora, and dreaded in me a rival. Thus he had concealed the letter till his presentiment--shall I call _his_ emotion apprehension?--of the coming day, impelled him to deliver it to me. It was sealed and bordered with black. I tore it open and read hurriedly by the wavering light of our watchfire. The whole tenor of the letter was melancholy, and at such a time and under all the circumstances, it moved me, though one or two sentences were rather galling in their purport.