'Never—oh never! I go to return no more. It is the doom of our race, my dear Miss Everingham.'

'Oh say not so—but here comes dearest papa to thank you in better words than I can command.'

As she spoke, Sir Horace, accompanied by Miss Clavering, the Captain and Mr. Snobleigh, came down the mountain-path at a furious gallop, and with high alarm depicted in all their faces; however, a glance at the dead stag, at Laura seated, smiling on the bank, and her pony quietly cropping the grass beside her, explained in a moment that she was in perfect safety. Moreover, from the top of the hill, they had seen me rush upon the stag, and lay it dead at my feet. My skene-dhu, dripping with blood, explained all the rest.

'Dearest Laura—and you are safe!' exclaimed Fanny Clavering, flinging off her broad hat as she sprang from her pony, and hurried to embrace her friend; 'oh heaven, my dear girl, I wish we were all safe again in London, or at Elton Hall! We have been little more than six months in these atrocious Highlands, and yet we have first had your papa—dear old stupid thing! nearly drowned; then we were all but burned alive in the shrubbery the other night; and to-day you on the verge of being torn to pieces by a wild animal!'

'Aw—aw—Miss Everingham—you would be wilful,' yawned Snobleigh, 'and would go—aw into that fwightful jungle, where we lost you—the wood of—of—'

'Coil-chro.'

'Aw—yes—those devilish 'Ighland names!'

'I know of no better fun than to have a fine man of the Guards essaying to get his lazy tongue round an Argyleshire, or a Galway name. And so it was you, my brave fellow, who slew this noble stag?' asked the impulsive Fanny, blushing, as she laid her hand on the shoulder of Callum, who was kneeling on the grass, and feeling the dead animal with his hands.

'I—madam?—No; it was slain by the chief—my master; and it is a deed that would long be remembered in Glen Ora, were there other inhabitants now than the red-roes and the moor-fowl.'

'Aw—my dear fellow, get your hands washed, for weally that wed blood is atwocious, 'pon my soul it is.'