"Thine, Walter Fenton, is owre fair a brow for the midnight dew to lie upon, and the black corbie to flap its wings aboon in the stricken battlefield," continued the old lady, weeping, as "tremulously gentle her small hand" put back the thick dark locks from Walter's clouded brow and kissed it, while Lilian sobbed audibly on hearing her speak so forbodingly. The heart of the young man was too full to permit him to reply, but at that moment he felt he had done this kind and noble matron a grievous injury in gaining the love of Lilian without her consent. So reproachfully did the idea come home to his heart that he was about to throw himself upon his knees, and in the ardour of his temper pour forth an address in confession and exculpation--but his courage failed, and never again had he an opportunity. Compelled at last to assume his bonnet and rapier he felt his heart wrung when reflecting that he was, for the last time, with the only two beings on earth actually dear to him, that in another moment he would be gone with the wide world before him, and that world all a void--a wilderness. Lilian threw over his shoulders the scarf her fingers had embroidered, and as the reverend lady blessed him, the tears started into his eyes; he kissed their hands, and hurried away. Both arose to accompany him to the door; but while Lady Grisel searched for her long cane, he had yet a moment to give to Lilian. The light in the entrance hall fell full upon her face; it was pale as death, and never until that moment had Walter felt how intensely he loved her. "Once again, farewell, dear Lilian," said he, putting a ring upon her finger; "wear this for my sake, and forget not this night--the twentieth of September. O, Lilian, this ring is the dearest, the only relic I possess, and it contains the secret of my life. On my mother's hand it was found, when cold, and pale, and dead she lay among the tombs of the Greyfriars, in the year of Bothwell:--you know the rest, and will treasure it for my sake. If your lover falls, Lilian, for you it will be some satisfaction that he died beneath the Scottish standard, fighting for his King by the side of the brave Dunbarton! Who would desire a better epitaph?" "Walter," implored Lilian in a piercing voice, "for the love of God, if not for the love of me, speak not thus!" "Thou shalt hear of me, Lilian, if God spares me, as I hope he will for thy sake," replied Walter, whose military pride neither love nor sorrow could subdue. "My name shall never be mentioned but with honour, for I have sworn to become worthy of thee, or to--die! And if our soldiers prove as they have ever done, leal men and true, many a helmet will be cloven, many a corslet flattened, many a pike blunted, and bullet shot ere the banner of King James shall sink before these plebeian Dutch! Farewell: forget not the twentieth of September!"