In one place lay dead a poor soldier of the 50th regiment. His wife and three little children were clinging to his corpse, and lamenting bitterly. Night was closing around them, and the desolate creatures seemed terrified at its approach in such a wild spot, and called to Ronald loudly as he rode past; but he was too eager to overtake Catalina and her dangerous companion, to waste time unnecessarily. But he made an involuntary stop a little further on, where a soldier of his own company, a smart young fellow, named Archibald Logan, lay writhing in agony across the road, with the dust of which his blood was mixing as it oozed in heavy drops from a wound in the breast,—a musquet-shot having passed through his left shoulder-belt. Ronald reined-in the animal he rode, to stay for a moment and gaze upon him. He was the same young soldier whose aged mother had accompanied him with such sorrow to the beach at Leith, on the morning Major Campbell’s detachment embarked, and Ronald (under whose notice this circumstance had brought him) had always admired his soldier-like smartness and steadiness. He was dying now, and evidently in a state of delirium; broken sentences and wild observations fell from his clammy lips. Ronald spoke to him: "He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away." "O mother! mother!" said he in piercing accents, "dinna upbraid me wi’ enlisting and leaving ye. Ye ken weel for what I did it,—to pay my puir auld faither’s debt to Peter Grippy, and to free him frae the tolbooth o’ Edinburgh. But he wadna allow me, and ca’ed the bounty his bairn’s bluid siller. Put yer face close to mine, mother; for I hear yer greetin’ and moanin’, but I canna see the face I fain would look on. Tell my faither to lay me in the sunny side o’ the kirk-yard,—ye ken the place weel. I aye loed to pu’ the gowans and blue-bells that grew there in simmer. Menie Ormelie lies there, amang the lang green deid grass; lay me—lay me close to her. O mother! ye ken I loed her weel; we herded the same kye, and—" His voice sunk away into a whisper, and Ronald became deeply affected. After a pause, he continued in the same tone of agony, "Bonnie Menie,—Menie wi’ the gowden hair! She lies between the muckle deid-stane o’ the lairds o’ Glencorse, and the vault o’ the auld folk o’ Castle-Outer. Lay me close by her side, and plant some o’ the broon heather frae the bonnie Pentlands—the Pentlands I loe sae weel—on the heavy howme that covers me." This was the last effort. A gush of blood spouted from the wound, and he died without a groan.