He snatched up his box, and ran to where four soldiers of the 61st had laid down Coghlan, their eccentric old colonel, who had received a shot which entered the top of his left epaulet and came out at his right side. But he, too, was past Stuart’s skill, and died instantly. Evan heard not what passed, but learned the doctor’s opinion from the sad expression of his master’s face. "O sir! and sae he has gien me ower," said he, speaking in a broken and difficult manner, while the blood continued to gurgle incessantly in his throat. He held out his hand, and Ronald, taking it in his own, knelt down beside him. "And sae, sir, he has gien me ower. I thocht as muckle, but he micht, he micht hae tried to save me. But na, na! it’s a’ ower noo. I ken my weird mon a’ be fulfilled; I kent I wad fa’ the day. There was an unco sooghin’ in my heart a’ the last nicht. Something seemed aye whispering in my lug it was the last I was doomed to see. Oich, ay! it will be sair news to auld Donald Iverach, whan he hears that Evan Bean—his Evan with the fair hair, Evan that he was aye sae fond o’, has de’ed in the land o’ the foe and the stranger. But, O dear maister Ronald! ye’ll tell him,—ye’ll tell a’ the folk in the bonnie glen, whan ye gang hame to Miss Alice, that I died as became me,—with my bonnet on my brow, and my face to the enemy." "I will, Evan, I will," groaned Ronald. "I have always dune my duty, sir, to you and to my cuintry." "You have, Evan,—bravely and nobly." "Thanks, sir, thanks! Ye’ll say that Evan, the son of Iverach, never flinched in the dark hour o’ trial and danger!" said he, while his eyes lighted up with Highland enthusiasm. "Tell them this,—that the auld folk may remember me in their prayers, when the coronach is sung for me in the clachan at Lochisla." "My poor Evan, you will exhaust yourself." "My time is short noo," he replied in a moaning voice; "but, oh! this will be sad news to my auld faither. My death will bring sorrow and dule on his grey hairs. And then there is Jessie—Jessie Cavers o’ the Inch-house, at Avonside!" He began to sob, and his tears mingled with his blood. He sunk back exhausted, and lay still for a short time, during which he muttered to himself,—"The gowden braid—her lock o’ hair! An ill omen,—cut in twa by a sabre at Orthez. O Jessie! my sweet wee love, maun we never meet mair?" "Maister Ronald!" said he, in a quivering voice, "see that Jessie gets a’ my back pay. There’s three months o’t gane, come the neist Lord’s-day. Let her put it to her tocher,—’twill help her to get anither love. I release her frae the troth she gaed to me. Alake—" And his voice died away in a gentle wail. "Evan, this money,—hear me; this pay you speak of,—shall I not give it to your father, rather than this Jessie Cavers, who may, perhaps, have forgotten you?"