"England! alake, alake! and I was dreaming of Sir Archibald," replied the venerable dame, whose eyes were glittering with tears. "I saw him standing there, before the oaken cabinet, in his buff coat, steel cap and plume, just as I saw him last when under harness; and oh! but he seemed young and winsome, with glowing cheeks and bright locks of curling brown. 'Archibald,' I cried, and stretching my arms towards him, I strove to say mair; but O! Lilian, the words died away in whispers on my lips. He walked over to the buffet, and took up his silver tankard, which other lips have never touched since his own. It was empty. Sairly he gloomed as he wont when aught crossed him, and flang down the cup. I heard the clank of his jangling spurs as he turned lightly about, saying, 'Fare-ye-weel, my jo Grisel, horse and spear's the cry again,' and strode away. But O, his face, and the flash of his dark-browed eye; they come back to me, a vision from the grave. I awoke, and there stood Walter Fenton--his living image. O, Lilian! my doo, something sad is at hand. Blows and blood ever followed such visions as mine hath been this night. It forbodes deep dool, and dark misfortune." "Dear Aunt Grisel, why such dreary thoughts?" said Lilian, no longer able to restrain her tears; "though we are losing our dear friend Mr. Fenton--one, I hope, after Sir Archibald's own heart." "True he hath the bearing of a Napier, and the very eye of my young son, and, sooth, he was a stalwart cavalier as ever danced a gay galliard or spurred a horse to the battle field. And you are boune for the south, Walter? War and blood, more of it yet--more of it yet--when will the wicked cease from troubling? Well it is for ye, boy, that ye have no mother to weep this night the bitter tears that I have often shed for mine. Three fair sons, Walter, hae gone forth from this auld roof-tree, three stalwart men they were, and winsome to look upon, blooming and strong as ever braced steel ower gallant hearts; but hardalake! e'er the sun sank owre the westland hills, the last o' them lay by his father's side, cauld and stark on the banks of the Keithingburn. "But I trow," she added, striking her cane on the floor, "many a braw English cap and feather lay on the turf ere _that_ came to pass." The keen grey eyes of the spirited dame flashed bright through their tears, for strongly at that moment the Spartan spirit of the old Scottish matron glowed within her breast. "England? Alace! and what is stirring now that our blue bonnets maun cross the border again? Smooth water runs deep. I aye thought we were owre sib wi' the south to byde sae long."