His lawless and predatory life had imparted a wild expression to his eye and a boldness to his bearing that impressed all present; but one of the duke's farmers, named MacLaren, gathering courage, pushed a bottle of wine and another of whisky towards him, saying, with affected confidence,—
"You will drink with us, MacGregor?"
"That will I do, blithely," replied Rob, as he filled up a silver quaich with whisky, and drank it off, previously giving the old Highland toast,—
"The Hills, the Glens, and the People!"
He then laid his sword and pistols on the table, and presenting his little crooked snuff-mull to go round the company, in token of amity, he said,—
"Keep your seats gentlemen, pray; do not let me interrupt you," and proceeded to partake of the cold roasted meat, the bread, cheese, and wine which had been provided as a repast for the tenants, about thirty of whom were in the room.
While Rob was eating, the spirits of the party rose, and the bottle went cheerfully round till he called to the piper, who stood outside the inn near the open windows,—
"Alpine, strike up Glenfruin."
On hearing this order, which seemed the forerunner of mischief, the chamberlain and tenants exchanged glances of uneasiness, which in no way subsided when Rob stuck his pistols in his belt and snatched his sword, as his henchman and other followers burst into the room, with claymores drawn, and ranged themselves at the door and windows, precluding all chances of escape.
"Now, Killearn," said Rob, for the first time addressing his enemy; "you will perhaps have the kindness to inform me how you have come on with your collection of his grace's rents?"