"Scotland!" replied the venerable Ursuline, and her mild eyes became filled with animation and sadness. "I acknowledge with sorrow and pride that your country is also mine; but, alas! I can only remember it with horror and humiliation. Your voice takes me back to the pleasant days of other and happier years, and stirs an echo in the deepest recesses of my heart. Oh, my God! what is this that I feel within me? Intercede for me blessed Ursula, and save me from my own thoughts! Oh, let not the contentment in which I have dwelt these many years be disturbed by worldly regrets and old unhappiness!" There was a deep pathos in her voice, an air of subdued sorrow, mildness, and melancholy in her features, and a soft expression in her eye that was very winning, and Walter kissed her hand with a sentiment of affection and respect, and, strange to say, she did not withdraw it. "I belonged to the convent of Ursulines at Steinkirke. At vesper-time the Count Solmes sacked it with his troopers; (God forgive him and them the sacrilege!) they expelled us with savage violence, and I found shelter in a cottage close by. Your groans drew me forth. Permit me to lead you, my poor son, for indeed you seem very weak. There is one poor fugitive there already, a countrywoman of our own, to whom I hope you will bring pleasant tidings; let us go." They entered the humble Flemish cottage, the wide kitchen of which was brilliantly illuminated by a blazing fire of turf, that lit the furthest recesses of the great but rude apartment, that strongly resembled those represented by Rembrandt and Teniers, where every imaginable implement and article, garden and household utensil, hang from the beams of the open roof, load the walls, or encumber every available nook and corner; a heavy Flemish boor, in voluminous brown breeches, arose and doffed his fur cap, and with his wife made way for the sister of St. Ursula, who led Walter to a seat. Thankfully he drained to the last drop a pewter flaggon of water that the housewife gave him, and was about to speak, when his attention was arrested by the sudden appearance of a young lady. She was very beautiful, and had an exquisitely fair complexion, the natural paleness of which grief and fear had very much increased; her blue eyes sparkled with animation, and her half dishevelled hair was of the brightest and glossiest but palest flaxen. Running to Walter Fenton she took both his hands in hers, and said, with a touching earnestness of manner, "Ah, Sir! come you from the field of battle?" "This moment, madam." "Oh, you are Scottish by your voice, but alas! you wear the garb of Louis." "My dear madam, it is the garb of loyalty and exile; of great suffering, and of much endurance." "Unhappy Sir, you are----" "One of the cavaliers of Dundee." "Oh, tell me if you know aught of the fate of General Mackay in this day's carnage; Mackay, the Laird of Scoury?" she added a little proudly.