Ronald lay long insensible where he fell, and when life returned the first sounds which saluted his ears were the distant roar of the musquetry, and all the confused din of a great battle, which the breeze bore up from the plains to the mountains where he lay. From loss of blood and the stunning effects of the blow, he was long unable to rise or even to speak; but his ear was intensely awake to every sound around him, and he eagerly longed to know how the tide of battle was turning in the valley below. The aching and smarting pain in his head was excessive. He placed his hand behind, and withdrew it covered with blood, and closing his eyes, again sunk backwards on the gory turf. Although his ears were invaded by the distressing cries and hoarse groans of agony from the wounded around him, his heart wandered to that Highland home where his very soul seemed to be garnered up; and in that terrible moment he would have given the universe, were it his, for a single glance at the heather hills and the wild woods around the old grey tower of Lochisla. He thought of his white-haired sire, and of what would be his sufferings and feelings should his only son perish in the land of the stranger. Alice, too,—but the thought of her inspired him with new life and spirit. He rose and unclasped her miniature, which was clotted and covered with his blood: he restored it to his breast, and looked about him. As the noise of the battle still continued without abatement, and he heard the shouts and battle-cry of the French mingled with the cheers of the British at times, he asked a French soldier who sat near him, shot through the leg, if he knew how the day had gone. He answered, without a moment’s hesitation, that the troops of the great Emperor had outflanked, beaten, and cut to pieces those of Wellington, who was on the road to Lisbon, flying as fast as his horse could carry him. Although Ronald put little dependance on this information, he resolved to satisfy himself. The Frenchman kindly bound up his head, and gave him a little brandy from his canteen; for which the Scotsman gave him his earnest thanks, being quite unable to yield more solid remuneration, not having seen a day’s pay for six months. Making use of his sword as a support, he got upon his feet, and all things seemed to swim around him as he staggered forward.