"James," he said, "I knew I was right, and when I see yon face I scent trouble brewing just as surely as when the corbies come sailing over the brae."
"It's the schoolmaster," said Rob.
But neither heeded him, and without a word the Major took him by the shoulders and pushed him out into the street, securely locking the door behind him. With the strangeness of it all fresh upon him Rob clutched his claymore and began to make his way homewards. He wondered where he had seen the great man in Fraser's tavern before, or whether he had dreamed of him. The memory of him though baffling, was curiously vivid in its way.
Rob lodged with his aunt, his mother's sister, and was not ashamed to admit that he had a wholesome terror for Miss Margaret Macpherson. What would she say to his plans? What, indeed?
Miss Macpherson was very tall and exceedingly gaunt. Her countenance was as bleak as a wind-swept hillside, and there was a stony glare in her grey eyes which seemed to turn the very atmosphere to frost. Her figure was all points and angles—jutting out where her shoulders rose towards her neck, and seeming to extend indefinitely into her arms. Rob knew those long, sinewy arms with their thin, gnarled hands ever ready to swoop. Miss Macpherson's customary attitude was like that of a great bird of prey, mightily beaked and clawed, pouncing swiftly, and rising again to sit and watch upon a crag.
She was sitting before the fire as he entered, and when she saw the sword in his hand there came over her grim countenance a quick change—a swift tightening, as though she had received a shock but would not own to it.
"Aunt Margaret," said Rob, with a rush to get it over, "I'm marching with Prince Charlie's men to-morrow."
She made as though to rise, then sat where she was, only her hands trembled as she held them to the fire.
"So schooling's over," she said, quietly, "and now we're off to the wars, are we? A fine spectacle that will be for your father's son. It's the gallows now, is it, along with a rag-tag and a bonny Prince? Ye'll want a polish to this sword, I'm thinking, and some bannocks for your travels. Oh, I'll cook ye bannocks, my mannie—fine, hot bannocks."
She watched him narrowly, all the time, wishing to frighten him, and finding that he remained unshaken she shrugged her shoulders and set about laying the table, her long, thin arms clutching the dishes. Rob noted with dejected eyes, that she was setting the things for one.