'We will feed on curds and whey,' cried the daring young Donald; 'your cheeks will grow more pink, and your brow more white with our simple fare. Your bed shall be made on the fresh green bracken and my plaid shall wrap you round. Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'
Now Lizzie had listened to young Donald's words with joy, but also with some fear. Her food had been of the daintiest, her bed of the softest down, and the young stranger, who was indeed scarce a stranger now, had, it seemed, but little to offer her save his love. Yet Lizzie still wished to go to the Highlands.
But when Dame Lindsay heard what young Donald had said she hardened her heart against the bonny young Highlander.
'Ye shall speak no more to my daughter,' she cried, 'until ye have told me where your home is, and how many broad lands are your own?' For it seemed to the old dame that a penniless lad would never dare to win her daughter, when lords and nobles had wooed her in vain.
But Donald's head was high, and he seemed to feel no shame as he answered the old dame bravely—
'My name is Donald MacDonald, and I hold it high in honour. My father is an old shepherd and my mother a dairymaid. Yet kind and gentle will they be to your beautiful daughter if she will come with me to the Highlands.'
Dame Lindsay could scarce believe she had heard aright. Her daughter marry a shepherd lad! Nay, that should never be, though indeed the lad was a bonny one and brave.
Then in her anger she bade young Donald begone. 'If ye do steal away my daughter, then, without doubt ye shall hang for it!' she cried.
The young laird turned haughtily on his heel. He had little patience, nor could his spirit easily brook such scorn as the old Dame flung at him.
He turned on his heel and he said, 'There is no law in Edinburgh city this day which can hang me.'