window of the apartment, which commanded a view of the field of the slain, with all its horrors. It was thick spread with dead and wounded, and the spoilers were busy tearing the clothes from the victims of war and feudal ambition, with as much in difference as if they had not been of the same species, and themselves exposed, perhaps, to-morrow to the same fate.
"Does the sight please you?" said M'Aulay.
"It is hideous," said Annot, covering her eyes with her hands; "How can you bid me look upon it?"
"You must be enured to it," said he, "if you remain with this destined host—you will soon have to search such a field for my brother's corpse—for Menteith's—for mine—but that will be a more indifferent task—You do not love me!"
"This is the first time you have taxed me with unkindness," said Annot, weeping. "You are my brother—my preser-
