Conversation of the stereotyped kind, concerning the weather and so forth, had been long ignored by Falconer and Miss Montgomerie. 'I shall show you some beautiful scenery,' said she, as they shortened their horses' pace to a walk; 'it is of the pastoral kind, of course--for this is the land of dairy-farms and Dunlop cheeses--all hill and dale; and though there are no mountains, we are very proud of Cunninghame,' she added, laughing. 'Do you draw?' 'Yes.' 'And paint?' 'A little, in water-colours.' 'What a pity it is winter-time! Were the season open, we might sketch together, and how delightful that would be!' Cecil Falconer cordially agreed with her. 'You must know that I love all this place dearly, wood, wold, and water,' exclaimed the girl, with a bright smile, as she looked around her with eyes the greatest beauty of which was their happy expression, girlish truthfulness, and the innocence of a nature that had never sought either to simulate or conceal an emotion; 'but I fear you will deem me very provincial.' 'Why--for loving your native place?' 'Ah! but this is _not_ my native place. I was born far away from here; but since poor papa followed mamma to her grave, I have lived at Eaglescraig, and all the happiest memories of my childhood, and girlhood too, are connected with it; so I love the bold rocky scenery, the great bluffs that overhang the Firth of Clyde, and the green pastoral valleys of Cunninghame. I know every farm and cottage, every coppice and wimpling burn, in the bailiwick.' 'Is it long since your parents died, Miss Montgomerie?' asked Falconer, as their conversation began to take a personal turn. 'Yes; oh, so long ago that I can only remember them as if in a dream!' 'That is sad.' 'And yours--was your father in the Cameronians?' 'He died when I was in infancy; and where, I scarcely know.' 'But he, too, was a soldier, of course?' 'I think not,' said Falconer, evasively. 'I am too curious--pardon me; but I am a terrible talker,' she added, and changed the subject, which Annabelle Erroll perceived had brought an unwonted colour to the young man's cheeks. Falconer had often thought that, had his father lived, there would have been a great difference in his own life somehow, though he could not distinctly define the nature of it. 'How I wish your friend had been here with you,' Mary Montgomerie said, after a pause. 'Leslie Fotheringhame?' 'Yes; but Sir Piers said it was impossible.' 'He, too, could not leave our detachment.' 'How lonely he must be, shut up in that dull castle of Dumbarton. His name is a scarce one; is he one of the old Fotheringhames of Angus?' 'I believe so,' said Miss Erroll, colouring after she spoke. 'We should have made quite a pleasant quartette!' said Miss Montgomerie. 'Does he sing?' 'Oh yes--so well!' replied Annabelle, ere Falconer could speak. 'How do _you_ know?' asked her friend, laughing.