Rob slung his target on his shoulder, grasped the ropes, and from step to step swung himself lightly up the beetling rocks until he reached the summit, from whence he could see, far down below, Loch Katrine, a lovely sheet of water ten miles in length, gleaming redly in the last light of the sun, whose rays lingered yet on the vast peak of Benvenue, and on the beautiful hills of Arroquhar, that closed the view to the west.
In the loch is an islet, wherein, during the invasion of Scotland by Oliver Cromwell, the Clan Gregor had placed all their aged men, their women and children, for security. On finding that the only boat remaining was moored at the islet, an English soldier swam across to seize it, but was stabbed to the heart by Iole MacGregor, the grandmother of Rob's foster-brother, Callam MacAleister.
The scenery was alike wild and grand, and the great masses of lurid and dun-coloured thunder-clouds that overhung the darkening hills added to its effect.
With his keen and glittering eyes fixed on the place where the sun had set, Paul Crubach sat on a fragment of volcanic rock. He seemed wan, pale, and weary; his masses of tangled hair and his primitive garb of deerskin seemed to have been scorched by fire, and his bare legs and arms were covered with scars and bruises.
Propping himself on his cross-staff, he arose with apparent difficulty on the approach of MacGregor, who said, with anxiety,—
"In Heaven's name, what has happened—what have you done, Paul?"
"I have opened the House of Invocation. I have consulted the oracle of the Tighghairm," said he, solemnly.
"Did it speak?" asked Rob, with growing wonder.
"Listen; I passed the night in the Coir nan Uriskin."
"In the cave of the wild shaggy men!" exclaimed the other, starting with more of actual fear than astonishment in his manner.