bairns that are no come till’t, and wives wi’ their rocks and distaffs, the very wallydraigles o’ the country- side—and Dougal Gregor, too, wha wad hae thought there had been as muckle sense in his tatty pow, that ne’er had a better covering than his ain shaggy hassock of hair!—But say away—though I dread what’s to come neist,—for my Helen’s an incarnate devil when her bluid’s up—puir thing, she has ower muckle reason.”

I observed as much delicacy as I could in communicating to him the usage we had received, but I obviously saw the detail gave him great pain.

“I wad rather than a thousand merks,” he said, “that I had been at hame! To misguide strangers, and forbye a’, my ain natural cousin, that had showed me sic kindness—I wad rather they had burned half the Lennox in their folly! But this comes o’ trusting women and their bairns, that have neither measure nor reason in their dealings—however, it’s a’ owing to that dog of a gauger, wha betrayed me by pretending a message from your cousin Rashleigh, to meet him on the king’s affairs, whilk I thought was very like to be anent Garschattachin and a party of the Lennox declaring themselves for King James. Faith, but I kend I was clean beguiled when I heard the Duke was there; and when they strapped the horse-girth ower my arms, I might hae judged what was biding me; for I kend your kinsman, being, wi’ pardon, a slippery loon himsell, is prone to employ those of his ain kidney—I wish he mayna hae been at the bottom o’ the ploy himsell—I thought the chield Morris looked devilish queer when I determined he should remain a wad, or hostage, for my safe back-coming. But I am come back, nae thanks to him, or them that employed him, and the question is, how the collector-loon is to win back himsell—I promise him it will not be without ransom.”

“Morris,” said I, “has already paid the last ransom which mortal man can owe.”

“Eh! What?” exclaimed my companion hastily; “What d’ye say? I trust it was in the skirmish he was killed?”

“He was slain in cold blood, after the fight was over, Mr. Campbell.”

“Cold blood?—Damnation!”—he said, muttering betwixt his teeth—“How fell that, sir?—Speak out, sir, and do not Maister or Campbell me—my foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor!”

His passions were obviously irritated; but, without noticing the rudeness of his tone, I gave him a short and distinct account of the death of Morris. He struck the butt of his gun with great vehemence against the ground, and broke out, “I vow to God, such a deed might make one forswear kin, clan, country, wife, and bairns!—and yet the villain wrought long for it. And what is the difference between warsling below the water wi’a stane about your neck, and wavering in the wind wi’ a tether round it?—it’s but choking after a’, and he drees the doom he ettled for me. I could have wished, though, they had rather putten a ball through him, or a dirk; for the fashion of removing him will give rise to mony idle clavers—But every wight has his weird, and we maun a’ dee when our day comes—And naebody will deny that Helen MacGregor has deep wrongs to avenge.”

So saying, he seemed to dismiss the theme altogether from his mind, and proceeded to inquire how I got free from the party in whose hands he had seen me.

My story was soon told; and I added the episode of my having recovered the papers of my father, though I dared not trust my voice to name the name of Diana.

“I was sure ye wad get them,” said MacGregor; “the letter ye brought me contained his Excellency’s pleasure to that effect; and nae doubt it was my will to have aided in it. And I asked ye up into this glen on the very errand. But it’s like his Excellency has foregathered wi’ Rashleigh sooner than I expected.”

The first part of this answer was what most forcibly struck me.