"Lady," faltered Walter, quite overcome by the question and the aspect of the speaker, "the brave champion of Presbyterianism is no more. I--I saw him slain." "My father! oh, my father!" cried Margaret Mackay, in a voice that pierced the conscience-stricken Fenton to the heart; "I shall never see thee more--never behold thy kind old face and silver hair. Oh, my God! I am quite alone in the world, and what will become of me now? Oh, Lady Clermistonlee!" she exclaimed, and pressing against her heart the hand of the nun, sank into a chair and swooned. "_Clermistonlee!_" reiterated Walter, starting; but the helpless condition of his young countrywoman demanded immediate attention, and he was compelled to smother his curiosity for a time, until she had partially recovered, and then the good Ursuline, after attending her with the most motherly care, left her engaged in prayer in another apartment, and turned all her attention to the wound on Walter's head. With an adroit neatness of hand, a soft insinuating manner which drew the heart of Walter towards her as to a mother, the compassionate nun, assisted by the silent Flemish housewife, bathed the wound, cut away the long clotted locks, and bound it up, while the round visaged boor, whose mind was wholly absorbed by the loss of a field of corn, which had been cut down by Boufflers' foraging dragoons, sat with his eyes intently fixed on the smoke that curled from his pipe. Walter had been so little accustomed to kindness, that all the strong feelings of his warm heart now gushed forth. "A thousand thanks, dear madam!" he exclaimed. "I know not whether it is your kindness, the mere ardour of my heart, or some mysterious influence that Heaven alone can see, which calls forth all my fondest and most reverential sentiments towards you." The Ursuline smiled sadly, and retired a pace. "Oh, what is this new feeling that stirs within me?" continued Walter, in a half musing voice. "It seems as if your face bore the long remembered features of some kind friend or dear relative. Like a gleam of sunshine through a mist, they come back to me from the obscurity of the past like those of one whom--but, ah! whither is my enthusiasm carrying me? Dear madam, once more a thousand thanks, for now I must leave, and shall never see you more, but your kindness will ever be remembered by Walter Fenton with gratitude and love." "Fenton!" said the Ursuline, putting back his hair, and tenderly surveying his emaciated features, "I once had a dear though humble friend of that name, and my heart yearns to thee for her sake. But wherefore this hurry to depart? Your wound?--" "I know not where I am, lady, and should any of the Statholder's people come this way I should assuredly be shot." "Then, in the name of all that is blessed, away! The fires of the French camp are still visible, and you may gain it ere daybreak."