"Lost! how—what mean you?" asked the laird of Glenstrae, coming hurriedly forward. "Who are you?"
"The son of Lamond of that Ilk."
"By whom are you pursued, that my house will fail to afford you succour?" asked Glenstrae.
"I am pursued by MacGregors," replied the sinking fugitive, "and I beseech you, by all the claims of hospitality and compassion, and by your authority, to save me from them."
"You are safe," said Alaster, kissing the blade of his dirk; "but what have you done—whom have you slain?"
"Whom?" reiterated Lamond, in a hollow voice.
"Yes; there is blood upon your hands, and on the hilt of your dirk."
"Alas!" said Lamond, and paused.
"Speak! for you are safe in the house of Glenstrae, whatever you have done," said the chief impetuously; but the unhappy fugitive clasped his hands, for a din of voices rang at the tower gate, and Dugald Ciar Mhor, with other pursuers, came rushing in, bearing with them the body of Evan, and after informing the unfortunate father of what had occurred, they loudly demanded that the assassin should be surrendered unto them.
"I have passed my word to protect him, and I must respect it, even in this moment of agony!" replied Glenstrae, while the tears rolled over his face; "never shall it be said that a MacGregor broke his word, even to an enemy!"