Mrs. Warrender of Ardgour, widow of Lord Rohallion's old friend and companion-in-arms, Colonel John Warrender, who, as we have related, fell at the head of the Corsican Rangers in the Egyptian expedition, died in London, bequeathing to the care, tuition, and trust of Lady Winifred her only daughter, in charge of whom Lady Eglinton arrived from England in the summer of 1806, accompanied by her two unmarried daughters, Lilias and Mary, now growing up into tall and handsome young women, with whom Quentin could scarcely venture to romp and race as in former days.
It was evening when an outrider, as a sort of avant-courier, arrived from Maybole to announce that the Countess was coming with her charge; so Lady Rohallion assumed her black silk capuchin, her husband his cane and jaunty old-fashioned triangular Nivernois (to which he rigidly adhered, despite the almost general adoption of the present form of round hat), and summoning Quentin, who was busy among the firearms in the gun-room, they set forth for a stroll along the avenue to meet their friends.
"Poor Jack Warrender!" said Lord Rohallion, musingly; "I wonder whether his girl resembles him?"
"I should think not," replied Lady Winifred, smiling, as her recollections of the late Colonel's personal appearance were not flattering.
"I have not seen the child for four or five years."
"Flora will be past sixteen now. She had her mother's forehead, and soft, dovelike eyes; the Colonel was a stern and rough-featured man."
"But a good-hearted fellow, Winny, as ever cracked a joke or a bottle. I saw him first as a jolly ensign, carrying the union colour of his regiment, at Saratoga, and, egad, my dear, that wasn't yesterday."
"Flora's mother died of a broken heart."
"She was always delicate," said Lord Rohallion.
"Ah, like most men, you don't believe in that kind of death; but she never recovered the shock of her husband's fall in Egypt, and thus, after five years' constant ailing and pining, she has passed away to her place of rest."