to
her lips.

"Oh, sir," said the Covenanter, "pardon the freedom o' a plain blunt
man, and o' ane whose bosom is burning wi' anxiety; but there is a
mystery, there is _something_ attending my deliverance, an' the
letter, and your kindness, that I canna see through--and I hope, and
I fear--and I canna--I _daurna_ comprehend how it is!--but, as it were,
the past--the lang bygane past, and the present, appear to hae met
thegither! It is makin' my head dizzy wi' wonder, for there seems in a'
this a something that concerns you, and that concerns me, and _one_ that
I mayna name."

"Your perplexity," said Sir Frederic, "may be best relieved, by stating
to you, in a few words, one or two circumstances of my history. Having,
from family affliction, left this country, until within these four
years, I held a commission in the army of the Prince of Orange. I was
present at the battle of Seneff; it was my last engagement; and in the
regiment which I commanded, there was a young Scottish volunteer, to
whose bravery, during the battle, I owed my life. In admiration and
gratitude for his conduct, I sent for him after the victory, to present
him to the prince. He came. I questioned him respecting his birth and
his family. He was silent--he burst into tears. I urged him to speak.
He said, of his real name he knew nothing--of his family he knew
nothing--all that he knew was, that he had been the adopted son of a
good and a Christian man, who had found him on Philiphaugh, on the
lifeless bosom of his mother!"

"Merciful Heaven! my puir, injured Philip!" exclaimed the aged
Covenanter, wringing his hands.

"My brother!" cried Daniel eagerly. Mary wept.

"Oh, sir!" continued Sir Frederic, "words cannot paint my feelings as he
spoke! I had been at the battle of Philiphaugh! and, not dreaming that a
conflict was at hand, my beloved wife, with our infant boy, my little
Edward, had joined me but the day before. At the first noise of Lesly's
onset, I rushed from our tent--I left my loved ones there! Our army was
stricken with confusion--I never beheld them again! I grasped the hand
of the youth--I gazed in his face as though my soul would have leaped
from my eyelids. 'Do not deceive me!' I cried; and he drew from his
bosom the ring and the bracelets of my Elizabeth!"

Here the old knight paused and wept, and tears ran down the cheeks of
John Brydone, and the cheeks of his children.

They had not been many days in Westmoreland, and they