Lapse of years, change of circumstances and of thought had considerably altered the appearance of Lilian. The light-hearted, slender, and joyous girl had expanded into a stately, grave, and melancholy matron. Oh, what a change those five sad years had wrought! Her dress was magnificent, as became the wife of a Scottish noble; her figure, though still slight, was fuller and rounder than of old; her face, though still dignified and beautiful, was paler--even sickly. Her blue eyes seemed to have lost much of their former brilliancy, and to have gained only in softness of expression. Her dark lashes were cast down, and her aspect was sad and touching. The bloom of her lip and her cheek had faded away together, for heavily on her affectionate heart had the hand of suffering weighed. She wept, and the heart of Walter was melted within him. Had all the universe been his he would have given it to have embraced her. He sighed bitterly, but dared not to approach. "He is gone," said Lilian,--"gone to spend another night in riot and debauchery, while I am left ever alone. Perhaps 'tis well, for often his presence is intolerable. Woe is me! Oh, how different was the future I once pictured to my imagination!" The sound of that dear voice, which had so often come to him through his dreams in many a far and foreign camp and city, made Walter tremble. He was deeply moved. The fire in the arched chimney, which had been smouldering, now suddenly shot up into a broad and ruddy blaze that lighted the whole chamber. Lilian turned her head, and instantly grew pale as death, for full on the image of him who occupied her thoughts--of Walter Fenton, hollow eyed, emaciated, and supported on a walking-staff--fell the bright stream of that fitful light. He looked so unearthly, so motionless and spectral, that Lilian's blood ran cold. She would have screamed, but the cry died away upon her lips. After a moment or two her spirit rallied; her respiration, though hurried, became more free; her face blushed scarlet up to the very temples, and then became ashy pale, as before, and her glazed eyes resumed their wild and inquiring expression. She arose, but neither advanced nor spoke. All power seemed to have left her. "Oh, Lilian! Lilian!" said the poor wanderer in a voice of great pathos; "after the lapse of five long years of exile and suffering, what a meeting is this for us! Under what a course of perils have the hope of my return and your truth not sustained me? My God! that I should find you thus. Is this the welcome I expected?" Summoning all her courage and that self-possession which women have in so great a degree, Lilian (though her eyes were full of tears) averted her face, and recalled the fatal letter of Finland, on which had turned the whole of her future fate. "Look at me, adorable Lilian!" said Walter, kneeling and stretching his arms towards her. Lilian dared not to look; but she trembled violently and sobbed heavily.