"Would to heaven I could do so," replied the baronet, with unconcealed dejection.
"How?" asked the other, with alarm.
"The fleet, with all the Spanish troops and munitions of war, set sail from San Sebastian for Scotland; but Heaven itself seems against this most unlucky House of Stuart."
"Sir James Livingstone!"
"It is so; for Fortune and the elements are alike their enemies!" exclaimed the other, bitterly.
"Speak quickly, Sir James," said MacGregor, stamping his foot on the heather; "I am in no mode either for parables or riddles, after marching all this distance, and leaving my family and my country all but open to the enemy; and I know the tricks that Montrose and Killearn are capable of playing me. The fleet, you say, has sailed?"
"But encountered a dreadful gale off Cape Finisterre——"
"I know not where that may be."
"'Tis a headland off the coast of Brittany—where, it matters not; but the storm lasted two entire days, and drove the armament back, dismasted and battered, to the Spanish coast, thus disconcerting all the plans of the Duke of Ormond and the friendly schemes of Philip V."
"Then we have marched here in vain!"