"I know not, and I care not," replied Annie, pettishly, flirting her large fan; "but the varlet left me abruptly enough, and 'tis not his wont. This comes of loving soldiers--fie!" "O! Annie," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, "they have followed Craigdarroch to the garden. There has been a feud about your dancing with one when engaged to the other; and something terrible will assuredly come of it." "Preserve me, Heaven! O! in my heedlessness I did so, and they will be fighting about it--blood ever comes of a Scotsman's quarrel. My God! Lilian--where is the Earl--the Countess--to whom shall I speak? Stay--let us not spoil the merriment around us. The garden, said you? I know the way, and if the cavaliers are there, I will soon make them sheath their rapiers, I warrant you." Lilian took her arm; and though it was not easy for two such bright stars to leave their orbit unseen, they contrived, to elude observation, to glide down stairs, and reach the old-fashioned garden, on the rich flower-beds, leaden nymphs and corydons, box-edged walks and thick green holly hedges of which, several flakes of strong light fell in long ruddy lines from the grated windows of the mansion. The full round moon was sailing in summer radiance through clouds of fleecy whiteness, and threw her slanting beams in showers of silver on the shrubbery and terraces of the garden. All was still and silent; the agitated girls could not perceive any one; but, trembling, they listened fearfully for the clash of swords or the jingle of spurs. "Oh! if they should have gone to the fields, where we cannot follow them!" murmured Annie, in great agitation. "God guide me!" she added, pressing her hands upon her temples, and displaying, as she did so, two beautiful and braceleted arms, that shone like alabaster in the moonlight. "O! if blood is shed for me, I will never smile more. Ah! surely they will not fight about such a trifle as my preference in a cotillon." "Dear Annie, think you your love is a trifle to spirits as these? They will fight, and desperately too. Douglas bit his glove, and that, Aunt Grisel says, is an old border sign of deadly feud; Craigdarroch will never forgive it; and I saw his black eyes flash fire, as he bit his gauntlet in reply, and turned sharply away on his heel." At that moment they heard the voice of Douglas. He was close by, but one of those dark holly hedges, so common in ancient gardens, interposed its thick impervious screen between them. "'Tis well!" he exclaimed; "but ere we come to slash the doublets we were born in, Walter, unclasp this iron shell of mine: Craigdarroch is minus a corslet, and we must fight on equal terms. A merry moonlight, gentlemen, for a camisadoe. A clear field, and no favour. Shall we fight with our buff gloves on?"