"You will regret to hear that poor Mr. Wylie is failing fast, poor man! His niece Ruth--a very pretty young woman indeed--has just had twins. Her husband is Bailie Mucklewham, of the neighbouring town--a grave and rigid man, and ruling Elder of the Tabernacle, whatever that may be." Ruth and her twins, and her husband the demure Elder and Bailie! I could laugh now, at the boyish hour in which I thought seriously of marrying Ruth Wylie. "Doubtful where to address this letter to you, I have committed it to the care of Major Shirley, who has been hunting in this neighbourhood, and is now proceeding to Germany, to join the staff of mv Lord George Sackville. "P.S.--Write me, dear cousin, and tell me all about this horrible war, and if it will soon be over. The major is so impatient that I have not time to read over what I have written. Adieu, with a kiss, A.G." In our comfortless bivouac, by the sinking light of the wavering watchfire, as I read on, Aurora's face came before me, so charming, so fair, so blooming, and so English. She was warmhearted, affectionate, and my only relative on earth, so could I think of her in such a time of peril otherwise than kindly? "Can it be--I asked of myself--that I am forgetting Jacqueline? But wherefore remember her now!" Shirley had been hunting in the vicinity of Netherwood, so I might be sure that all his time would not have been there devoted to the sports of the field. Aurora prayed for me! It was delightful to have some one at least who thought of me--whose friendship or regard blessed me and that my course in life was not unheeded or unmarked amid the perils of war. Aurora might love me, if I wished; surely there was no vanity in me to think so? But I feared that I could never love her--at least as I had loved Jacqueline--for she was the holder, the usurper of all that should be mine. I resolved to write to her kindly, affectionately, after the battle, and then I would think of her no more; but somehow Aurora's image was very persisting, and would not be set aside. I put the letter in my sabretache, and was looking about for a soft place whereon to sleep for an hour or so, when the sharp twang of the trumpet sounding, and the voice of Tom Kirkton shouting "Saddles and boots! to horse, the Greys!" warned me that day had broken, and that we must stand to arms, for the bloody game of Minden was about to begin. CHAPTER III. BATTLE OF MINDEN. The morning of the 1st of August dawned fair and softly. The sky was a deep blue, and light fleecy clouds were floating across it. It was the opening of a day of battle, a day of doom to many, for who among us were fated to fall, and who to see its close? A gentle breeze waved the foliage of the green woods, and swayed the ripened corn in yellow billows as it passed over the broad harvest-fields.