In winter especially, the old castle was dull and visitors were few. The old quartermaster talked to her of Minden and Saratoga; of proceeding for leagues upon leagues in heavy marching order up to the neck in snow; of scalp-hunting Choctaws and Cherokees, tomahawks and war-paint. The parish minister, fearing that she had become "tainted with Episcopacy during her sojourn in the English metropolis," dosed her with such gloomy theology as can be found nowhere out of Scotland, mingled with local gossip, which often took the form of scandal; the dominie prosed away "anent" the Romans, or of chemical action, the laws of gravitation, the dogmas of Antichrist, and the dreadful views of society taken by the Corsican usurper and his blood-smeared Frenchmen, till the young heiress felt her head spin. Lord Rohallion, whose ideas were chiefly military, and Lady Winifred, whose thoughts ran chiefly on housewifery and acting doctor to all the children on the estate, were not very amusing either, so she turned with joy and pleasure to her new friend Quentin Kennedy, who was ever ready for a gallop into the country, a ramble in the woods, or a romp in the garden. Long and many were the confidences between them, for both were orphans, and they had thus many emotions in common. He told her in detail what she had already heard, and what all in the Bailiewicks of Carrick, Kyle, and Cunninghame knew, the story of his being saved from the wreck of an unknown ship, whose whole crew perished, and that his father, who had been a Scottish officer in the service of Monsieur, was drowned with them; that now, he could barely shadow out his thin spare figure, and pale and anxious face, it seemed so long since then; that save the Crawfords of Rohallion, he had no friends on earth that he knew of, and that he was to become a soldier, he believed--at least his good friend Mr. Girvan always said so, and that it was his own wish. "A soldier!" repeated Flora; "my poor papa was one, and those horrid French killed him. Oh that I were a man, to join with you in a life of such peril and adventure! But Lady Rohallion says I am to be a soldier's wife," she added, smiling, and burying her pretty nostrils in a thick moss rose. "To be married?" "Yes; she says that the Master of Rohallion is to marry me, whenever he returns home." "And do you love him, Flora?" "I don't know," she replied, blushing as red as the rose in her hand, and casting down her dark eyelashes. "Why?" "Because, Quentin, I never saw him." "Not even at Ardgour?" "No, nor in London, for when my dear mamma was there, the Master was always at Windsor or Brighton with the Guards." "Then why are you to marry him?" persisted Quentin. "Because I am told that it will be very convenient for all parties, as the lands of Rohallion and those of Ardgour march together for miles over hill and glen," replied Flora, using the Scottish phrase for "adjoin."