"And so you are really now a captain, and knight of a military order? O Heaven! I can scarcely believe it, even when your name appears in the army list. How short a time has elapsed since you used to harry the nests of the eagle and owl at Tullyisla, among the dark nooks of the old castle, and gather flowers and berries with Louis and me in Strathonan! You well know, dear Ronald, that no one rejoices more than Alice Lisle at your rapid promotion, but indeed I think it very horrid to owe one’s advancement to the death of one’s friends, and I see that a sad alteration has taken place among the officers of the Gordon Highlanders since the battle of the Pyrenees. The joy I now feel in the knowledge of your—alas! only temporary—safety and good fortune, will scarcely counterbalance the agony of mind I experienced when the news of Vittoria arrived, and your name appeared in the list of wounded. Papa concealed the papers from me for some days, but I heard of it from my foster-sister, Jessie Cavers, and until your letters, dated from the "Maya Camp" reached us, my anxiety and perturbation of spirit are quite indescribable. What was thought of your danger by the people up the glen at Lochisla I really know not, but the whole country side was in an uproar in honour of the victory. The banner was displayed from the tower, a huge bonfire blazed on the summit of Craigonan, and the two old cannon on the bartizan were kept booming away the live-long night, greatly to the terror of all the old ladies within ten miles, who supposed that Buonaparte in person had come up the Tay, and landed a host of be-whiskered grenadiers on the Inches of Perth. The noise of the cannon alarmed others, too. The militia, the fencibles, and the volunteers got under arms; many of the chiefs north of this began to muster their people, and the whole country was in a state of commotion. Your father gave a dinner to his kin and tenantry, and dancing, drinking, and piping were kept up, I believe, in the old hall until the morning sun shone down the glen upon them." Rolled up in his cloak, Ronald sat sipping his brandy and water, while by the light of a streaming candle he conned over the letter, so much absorbed in its contents as to forget every thing around him, until the report of a musquet, fired by the sentinel outside the block-house, caused him to start and leap to his feet as if he had received an electric shock. "The French, and in this frosty night!" exclaimed Macpherson, leaping up from the ground, on which he had been fast asleep. "Now the devil confound them! they might have chosen daylight for their visit. Come, Stuart, leave your love-letter,—it can scarcely be any thing else, as you have been reading it all night,—leave it, and attend to your command, or Wellington will be issuing such another order anent love-letters as he gave us about the wild-pigs at Alba."