Then, wrapping himself in his great-coat, Muckle John took the reed from his pocket and began to play a Skye song that the oarsmen sing for keeping time. But soon he tired of that and played an old Highland lament that is as full of sorrow as the hollow of the hills with snow. He played it in a heart-breaking fashion with an eye upon the boy in the cave-mouth, who was a Macpherson and easily moved. And when he saw the tears coursing down his brown cheeks he could not but gulp too, partly through sympathy but most of all because of his own grand playing.
It was now the month of May, and still Rob lay in his cell. During the past ten days every source of refined torture had been applied to break down his silence. Starved, beaten, threatened, he maintained a stony front, until Strange in despair had left him to himself for two whole days. It was on the morning of the third day that he returned, and Rob saw by the elation in his eyes that something had happened. He could only guess that it meant another disaster to the hunted Jacobites.
"Up, you dog!" he cried; "and hear the news. What has your silence earned you, do you think? It has made you a traitor, Master Rob Fraser—a name that your clan will revile for all time. Ho, ho, ho! Think of that now—there's fame for ye! I'd give twenty guineas to hear what Lovat says when he learns that he was betrayed by..."
"Stop!" cried Rob, "why should he believe such a lie?"
"Because we shall have to break it to him. Otherwise he might guess who is really telling secrets, Rob, and that would spoil all."
With a mournful groan, the boy covered his face with his hands.
"Why do you not kill me now?" he asked in a hopeless voice.
"Kill you?" echoed Strange. "Man alive, there'd be poor sense in that! It is just because we will not hang ye that people will know just why. No, no, Rob. You'll live like a fighting-cock, whether ye like it or no."
"It will take more than you to find Lord Lovat," broke out Rob.
Strange shook his head gleefully.