"But, Mr. Walter, do you know that Aunt Grizel asserts there is an ancient prophecy which says, that like the Scottish crown, the fortune of our house came with a lass, and will go with one."
"Indeed!" rejoined Walter, considerably interested, "its fortune?"
"That is—you must understand—you know that," and here poor Lilian became seriously embarrassed, "that it came to the Napiers by marriage from the Wrytes, and by marriage it will go to others."
Walter's heart fluttered; he was about to say something, but the words died on his lips, and there ensued a silence of some minutes; Lilian, who sometimes became very reserved, being abashed by what she had said, and Walter stupidly pondering over it. Lilian was the first to speak.
"See you that old corbie on the branch of the dale tree, that horrid branch, all notched by the ropes of old executions?"
"He with the bald head now watching us?"
"The same: what think you Aunt Grizel says? He saw my great grandsire and his train in all their harness, ride down the avenue when they marched with brave King James to Flodden."
"By that reckoning he must be—let me see—one hundred and seventy-five years old."
"O, there are some older than that hereabouts; but come to the dovecot, and there we shall see birds of brighter plumes and better augury than these gloomy corbies."
As they approached the dovecot, a round edifice vaulted and domed with stone in the most ancient Scottish fashion, a tame pigeon winged its way from amid the scores that clustered on the roof, and after fluttering for a time over Lilian's head, alighted on her shoulder and nestled in her neck, rubbing its smooth and glossy head against her soft cheek, and even permitting Walter to stroke its shining pinions, which in the sunlight varied alternately from green to purple, and from purple to red and gold. On each leg it had a silver varvel with Lilian's cypher on it. As Walter caressed the beautiful bird, his hand often touched the soft cheek and softer tresses of the happy and thoughtless girl.