But the cause of the muteness of Patrick Stewart’s bugle, was very different from that which his brother believed it to be. At the time that he had been dragged from before the Priest, and thrown so violently to a distance, Sir Walter had been too much excited by rage to notice how he fell, or indeed whether he fell at all. Nor in the fearful work in which they were all so intently, and with so much good will engaged, did any of the Stewarts of Clan-Allan once think of him more. Had Sir Walter known that his beloved brother had been stretched bleeding, and senseless, on the ground, by his rash hand, and that he was now leaving him to perish without help, his mind, during his homeward journey, would have been even less tranquil than his reflections on the past event permitted it to be. The truth was, that Patrick Stewart’s bonnet, having been driven off by the furious force with which Sir Walter had hurled him from him, his unprotected head came into contact with a large stone, that projected out of the surface of the meadow-sward, with a sharp point, from which he received so severe a cut, and so rude a shock, that he never moved after it, but lay there as if he had been dead, in the midst of a pool of blood that flowed from the wound. How long he had remained in this situation, he had no means of guessing, but when his senses returned to him, he found himself seated, with his back leaning against the trunk of a great tree, near a fountain that welled out from the side of the hill. By the blaze of a bit of moss fir that a man held in his hand, he perceived that there were several people around him, who seemed to be busied in administering to him. One especially was anxiously supporting his head, staunching the blood that was still discharging itself from the cut in his temple, and holding a cup to his lips.
“How fares it with thee now?” enquired this person eagerly; “how fares it with thee, my dear friend?”
“Arthur Forbes of Curgarf!” said Patrick faintly.
“Holy St. Macher be praised that thine eyes are opened, and that I once more hear thy voice!” cried Arthur Forbes, “I had mine own fears that thou wert done for. What, in the name of all that is marvellous, hath befallen thee? Hast thou chanced to come into the hands of the Catteranes, who are said to harbour sometimes among these mountains?”
“Where am I?” said Patrick, turning his eyes around him, his brain still swimming in confusion. “Ah! that fire yonder!”
“Aye, that fire!” said Arthur Forbes eagerly, “what knowest thou of that fire?”
“Nay nothing,” replied Patrick shuddering.
“By the Rood, but it brent boldly when we first saw it from the far hill-side yonder,” said Arthur, “though it hath now fallen somewhat lower. Knowest thou at all who kindled it? We heard a bugle blast come faintly up from the bottom of the valley, as we came first within sight of it.”
“It was not burning when I fell,” replied Patrick guardedly.
“How did you fall, I pray you?” demanded Arthur Forbes.