Notwithstanding the early season of the year, the game in the woods had particularly taken his fancy; so had the herons, eels, teals, and trout of the Loch; and rabbit-warrens, and foxes that lurked among the great quarries; and with Finland he generally contrived to finish the day's loitering at the Hall fire, where Lady Grisel, with the birr of her silver-mounted wheel, performed a burden to the long and monotonous tales she inflicted, of the splendours of King Charles's court, the terrors of the wars of Montrose, and the spells and charms of sorcerers and witches--warnings, ghosts, and Heaven knows what more; but all of which proved much more interesting to her hearers in that age, than it could to my readers in this. Walter loved better to hear the wiry tinkling of Lilian's cittern or virginals after the old lady had fallen fast asleep, and then Annie Laurie joined her clear merry voice to the deeper notes of Douglas; and they were ever a happy evening party when the pages of _Cassandra, or The Banished Virgin_, and other romantic folios of the day--luxury, music, and conversation, free and untrammelled as any lover could wish--made the hours fleet past on silken wings. Ever joyous and ever gay, it was a circle from which Walter departed with regret, and counted one by one the long and weary hours until he found himself there again. Notwithstanding her violent prejudice against the obscurity of his birth, Lady Grisel warmly admired the young man for the frankness and courage he displayed, his general high bearing, and above all, for a certain strong resemblance which she averred he bore to her youngest son, Sir Archibald Napier, who was slain in the unfortunate battle of Inverkeithing, when Cromwell forced the passage of the Forth. Lucky it was for Walter that this strong idea took possession of her mind. From that time forward she loved to see him constantly, to watch his actions and features, and to listen to the tones of his voice, until, to her moistened and aged eyes, the very image of her youngest and best-beloved son seemed to be conjured up before her; and so strong became her feelings when this fancy possessed her, that it would have been a relief to have fallen upon his neck and kissed him. To her it was a living dream of other days--a dream that called back sorrow and joy, and a thousand tender memories from the mists that envelope the past; and Walter was often surprised to find her eyes full of tears when, after a long pause, she addressed him. Perhaps for nothing but this tender and mysterious source of interest, would she have permitted such an intimacy to spring up between the nameless soldier and Lilian, the last hope of her race, the heiress of the honours and possessions of the old barons of Bruntisfield and the Wrytes. But her mind was now becoming enfeebled by age, and prudence struggled in vain with her powerful fancies.