“’Tis the MacGregors—and Rob Roy himself!” exclaimed Di, and her own eyes shone.
“Welcome, Chief,” she said, advancing toward the red-haired man with dignity. “My uncle is hawking, but will be hame on the instant, and glad to see you and any of your clan. I trust the business that brings you to our roof is fortunate.”
“Greeting, Miss Diana,” returned the Highland chief, in a deep, guttural voice that was singularly impressive. “Well I ken that it is always welcome I am at this house. We come on business that may well turn out a bluidy one, but not here and not now.”
At this moment the baronet entered, his dogs leaping about him. Instantly he walked straight to the chieftain, his hand extended.
“Well, MacGregor.” He beckoned to a servant. “Bring refreshments for our guests, and quick about it,” he said. “Sit ye,” he added, waving his hand at the wild company, which gathered about the tables with a deal of scraping and much talk in a strange tongue—Gaelic, thought Rose, with a thrill, and turning to Ruth she whispered:
“Ruth, they must be here to help ‘the king over the water.’”
Ruth nodded. With Diana they were seated close to the wild Highlander, who was eagerly talking to Sir Hildebrand. Wine was brought in in large cups and handed about. The pipers now marched round the table, the air full of the skirling of the pipes. Then they sat down.
Sir Hildebrand rose:
“To his Excellency!” he shouted, in a voice that rang through the room.
With a great crash every Highlander leaped to his feet, and raised his beaker high in air. Rob Roy flashed a glance about the hall, and set his cup to his lips. Each of his followers did the same, and put back their empty goblets with a bang on the board.