OR THE COURT CAVE OF FIFE.
winning, was no longer hers to give. The death of her mother, while she was yet a child, had left her her own mistress long before the period when maternal care is most essential; and Edith's love was sought and won by one who had little but youth and a warm heart to recommend him.
Arthur Winton was the orphan son of a small proprietor in the neighbourhood, who, having been deprived of the best property by what he conceived the injustice of King James III., and the rapacity of his favourite Cochrane, was easily induced to join the insurgent nobles, who wrought the destruction of that monarch. He was, however, disappointed in his expectations of personal reward, having fallen in the conflict; and his son was too young to vindicate his claim in an age so rude as that of which we write.
Walter Colville, whose family had been so sadly thinned in the battle we have mentioned, though they had fought on the other side, naturally bore no good-will to the boy; but his younger son, who was nearly of the same age, viewed him with different feelings. He was much about the house of Balmeny: and, to be brief, he won the affections of the young Edith long before she knew either their nature or their value. Until the departure of young Walter Colville, Arthur's visits were attributed by the old man to his friendship for his son, but when Edith had unhappily become his heiress, he at once attributed them to their proper cause. A stern prohibition of their repetition was the consequence, and the lovers were henceforth reduced to hurried and sorrowful meetings in secret.
On the morning wherein we have chosen to begin the following veritable narrative, the youthful pair had met unobserved, as they imagined, in a shady corner of Balmeny wood, and had begun, the one to lament, and the other to listen, when the sudden apparition of the angry father checked the pleasing current of their imaginings.
He drew his sword as he approached, but the recollection of his seventy years, and his now enfeebled arm crossing his mind, he replaced the useless weapon, and contented himself with demanding how the youth had dared thus clandestinely to meet his daughter.
Arthur attempted to allay his anger, and to plead his passion as he best could; but the grim and angry frown that sat on Walter Colville's brow, as he listened to him, soon shewed how vainly he was speaking, and he ceased in confusion.
'Have you finished, young master,' said Walter, with a sneer. 'Then listen—you are not the wooer I look for to Edith. I should prefer him something richer, something
