Lilian threw on her hood and hurried to the door, where Walter had dismounted, and was in the act of slipping his snaffle-rein through one of the numerous rings in the wall, necessary appendages to the door of a manor-house, and quite as requisite as the "louping-on-stane" in those days, when every visitor of consideration came on horseback. With a charming mixture of frankness and timidity, the blushing girl held out both her hands in welcome to her lover; but there was a sadness in his smile that made the colour leave her cheek and the lustre fade in her eye. "Lilian--dear Madam--Lilian, I see you for the last time!" he exclaimed, as he took her hands in his, and raised them to his lips. "The last time?" reiterated Lilian, faintly. "Oh, are not these sad and bitter words? But so it is, Lilian; the fatal hour has come--our dream is over. We march for England to-morrow. The Dutch invaders are on the ocean, and in the hearts and swords of his faithful soldiers poor King James can alone rely in the struggle that is to come." "O, Walter, what horror is this?" "All the land is on the alert. A red beacon will blaze to-night from Arthur's rocky peak, and from Stirling in the west, to the Ochils in the north, will be sent tidings that will rouse the distant clans, and all Scotland will arise in arms. But oh! how adverse will be the motives of many who draw the sword! I have come to bid you adieu, Lilian--a long adieu, for many a battle must be fought and won ere again I stand on the threshold of your home--this happy home--the memory of which will cheer me through many a melancholy hour." "Ah, Walter, the horrors of Aunt Grisel's girlhood are again come upon us. What a sudden blow it is! We have been so happy--and you go--." Tears choked her utterance. "This instant, Lilian," said Walter, overpowered at the sight of her tears; "this instant. God! I have only a few minutes to spare even to bid you adieu." "And Lady Grisel, too," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, for she was too artless to conceal her deep emotion; "she to whom you have always been so kind, so attentive--you surely will bid her adieu?" "I could not be so ungrateful as to omit such a duty; but, dear Lilian, let us walk once more in the garden--you know our favourite place, by the old mossy fountain. Ah, Lilian, refuse me not," urged Walter, who saw that she trembled and hesitated. "I have much to say that I must not leave unsaid, for never again (how bitter are these words!) _never again_ may an opportunity come to me; never again may I bend my eyes on yours, or hear the sound of your voice--oh, Lilian--" Never had Walter trusted himself so far: he was earnest, impetuous, and confused. Lilian glanced timidly at his sparkling eyes, and then at the darkening woods, and, trembling between love and timidity, permitted him to draw her arm through his, and lead her into the ancient garden, the thick holly hedges of which entirely screened them from observation.