"What a cruel being man must be that can slay such innocence as slumbers here!" "And yet it is frae oot sic dreadful scenes o' bluidshed that great principles to bless our race arise; the struggles between right and wrong are often ushered in by the gibbet, the stake, or the battle-axe." "O, what a happy time that will be, Uncle Malcolm, when the nations shall learn war no more! when man shall love his brother man." "It is coming, Roland; sure as God's word is true, sic a day will dawn upon the earth." Hours were spent around the humble grave, for both felt the inspiration of the scene. "I hae something mair to show ye, Roland; here is ane o' the caves where our fathers used to hide in those dismal days; and mony a time in the midst o' baptismal or sacrament seasons in these lonely glens, at the sound o' the tramp o' Claverhouse and his troopers, would they hae to fly to these damp and gloomy shelters." "How solemn must have been the worship of these days, Uncle Malcolm; ever on the borders of eternity, they must always have sounded like funereal hymns in these solitudes!" "And yet how much we hae read o' their heroic spirit, their brave endurance, and their triumph over death! I can imagine strains o' victory always mingling wi' a martyr's hymn." When they arrived at home, letters from Edmund awaited Roland; he seemed to be growing tired of travelling alone. Uncle Malcolm, with his accustomed hospitality, immediately wrote a few lines of cordial invitation to Graham Hall. "Wha' hae we here?" asked Mrs. Lindsay. Roland looked out, and, lumbering up the road, came a large old-fashioned carriage, with two fat, lazy horses. "It is Sir Peter," continued the lady; and soon the party stopped at the door. "How fares it wi' ye a'?" said the old man, as he stepped slowly from the carriage, and warmly shook the master's hand. Lady Catherine followed, and then the three daughters, with their pets--Miss Juliana, with her cat; Miss Winnie, with a fat lap-dog; and Miss Jacky, with a large parrot, brought to her from abroad by a sailor cousin. Sundry bandboxes, and a trunk, indicated that they meant to stay for some days at least. The three ladies had all passed the hey-day of youth, for the youngest was thirty at least. Miss Juliana, the eldest, having passed two seasons at Edinburgh, was the only one who pretended to the manners of a lady; she still preserved carefully the wardrobe of those youthful days for extra occasions, such as a visit to Graham Hall. On this day, a worn-out travelling dress, made in the fashion of twenty years ago, looked rather antiquated; but the narrow purse of Kennicott Castle made a virtue of necessity.