With gray dawn Lemercier was awake, and a few minutes found him dressed and ready. He attired himself with particular care, putting on a coat and vest, the embroidery of which presented as few conspicuous marks as possible to an antagonist's eye. He clasped his coat from the cravat to the waist, and compressed his embroidered belt. He adjusted his white silk roll-up stockings with great exactness; tied up the flowing curls of his wig with a white ribbon, placed a scarlet feather in his hat, and then took his sword. The edge and point of the blade, the shell and pommel, grasp and guard of the hilt were all examined with scrupulous care for the last time; he drew on his gloves with care, and giving to the landlord the reckoning, which he might never return to pay, Lemercier called for his horse and rode through the main street of Crail. Following the directions he had received from his host, he hastily quitted the deserted and grass-grown street of the burgh (the very aspect of which he feared would chill him), and proceeded towards the ancient obelisk, still known as the "Standing Stone of Sauchope," which had been named as the place of rendezvous by that messenger who had not returned, and against whom M. Lemercier felt his anger a little excited. It was a cool March morning, the sky was clear and blue, and the few silver clouds that floated through it became edged with gold as the sun rose from his bed in the eastern sea--that burnished sea from which the cool fresh breeze swept over the level coast. The fields were assuming a vernal greenness, the buds were swelling on hedge and tree, and the vegetation of the summer that was to come--the summer that Lemercier might never see--was springing from amid the brown remains of the autumn that had gone, an autumn that he had passed with Athalie amid the gaieties and gardens of Paris and Versailles. At the distance of a mile he saw the strong square tower of Balcomie, the residence of his antagonist. One side was involved in shadow, the other shone redly in the rising sun, and the morning smoke from its broad chimneys curled in dusky columns into the blue sky. The caw of the rooks that followed the plough, whose shining share turned up the aromatic soil, the merry whistle of the bonneted plough-boys, the voices of the blackbird and the mavis, made him sad, and pleased was Lemercier to leave behind him all such sounds of life, and reach the wild and solitary place where the obelisk stood--a grim and time-worn relic of the Druid ages or the Danish wars. A rough mis-shapen remnant of antiquity, it still remains to mark the scene of this hostile meeting, which yet forms one of the most famous traditions of the East Neuk. As Lemercier rode up, he perceived a gentleman standing near the stone. His back was towards him, and he was apparently intent on caressing his charger, whose reins he had thrown negligently over his arm.