"All right, Shonny. Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that'll make your eyes ache. Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those hawks. Hooray, Max! just in time. There goes the gong."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

HOW KENNETH WAS TOO RASH.

Five days had passed—days of imprisonment, for one of the storms prophesied had come over the ocean from the far west, and there had been nothing to do but read, play chess and billiards, write letters, and— most interesting amusement of all to the London visitor—get up to an open window and watch the great dark waves come rolling in, to break with a noise like thunder, and deluge the rock with foam right up to the castle walls. Every now and then a huge roller would dash right into the bath cave, when there would be quite an explosion, and Max listened with a feeling of awe to the escape of the confined air, and wondered whether it would be possible for the place to be undermined, and the whole rock swept away.

"What!" cried Kenneth, when he broached the idea. "Nonsense! It has gone on like that for thousands of years. It's jolly! Next time we bathe, there won't be a scrap of weed left. The place will be regularly scoured out, and the bottom covered with soft shelly sand."

The outlook was most dismal. All the glorious colours of sea, sky, and mountain were blotted out, and it was only at intervals, when the drifting rain-clouds lifted a little, that a glimpse could be seen of some island out at sea.

Boom, rush, roar. The wind whistled and yelled as it rattled past the windows, and at times the violence was so great that Max turned an inquiring look at his young host, as if to ask whether there was any danger.

"Like a sail to-day?" asked the latter.

"Sail? with the sea like this!"

"Well, I don't think I should like it," said Kenneth, laughing. "Tavvy says the boat was going adrift out in the bay, but he caught her in time. It's quite rough even there. Here, let's put on waterproofs, and go out."

"Oh no. There: see how it rains."

"Yes, that's pretty tidy," said Kenneth, as the air was literally blackened by the tremendous torrent that fell. "I say, Max, this is the sort of day to see the Mare's Tail. My word! there's some water coming down now."

"It must be terrible."

"Terrible? Nonsense! Here, come into the kitchen and let's see if there's any one there."

Max wondered, but followed his young host to the kitchen, expecting to see no one but the maids, and perhaps Grant, the severe butler; but, when they reached the great stone-floored place, there were Tavish, Long Shon, and Scoodrach, the two latter seated at a table, and the great forester toasting the back of his legs at the fire, and sending up a cloud of steam, an example followed by the three dogs, who sent up smaller clouds of their own.

There was a chorus, or rather a trio of good-mornings, and a series of rappings from dogs' tails, and Max ventured to suggest to the great Highlander that it was very wet.

"Ou ay," he said; "a wee bit shoory, put she'll pe over soon."

"Pretty good spate up in the hills, Tavvy," cried Kenneth.

"Ou ay, Maister Ken; but it's gran' weather for ta fush."

"A' was thenking ye'd like to tak' ta chentleman up ta glen to see ta fa's," said Long Shon.

"Ah, we might do that when the shower's over."

"There'll pe a teal of watter coming down fra Ben Doil."

"Yes, we'll go, Max; and, say, Tav, we never went after the stags Scoody and I saw. Think we could get a shot at them to-day?"

"Weel, she might, Maister Ken, put she'd pe a wee pit wat for ta young chentleman."

"Oh, he wouldn't mind. You'd like to go deerstalking, Max?"

"Yes, I should like to go, but—"

"Oh, we wouldn't go while it rains hard; and you'd only get your feet wet."

"She couldna get over ta mountain to-day," said Long Shon decisively; "and ta glen'll be so full of watter, she couldna stand."

"Oh, nonsense! We could go, Tav?"

"Ou ay, she could go, put there's a teal o' watter apoot."

Just at that moment a weird-looking figure appeared at the door, with his long grey hair and beard streaked together with the rain, and, as he caught Max's eye, he smiled at him, raised one hand, gave a mysterious-looking nod, and beckoned to him to come.

"Here, Maxy, old Donald wants you."

"What for?" said Max, as he shrinkingly met the old man's eye, as he still kept on beckoning, and completely ignored the presence of the rest.

"He wants to give you a tune on the pipes."

Donald beckoned again in a quiet, mysterious manner, and the three dogs looked at him uneasily, Sneeshing uttering a low growl, as if he had unpleasant memories of bagpipe melodies and stones thrown at him because he had been unable to bear the music, and had howled.

"What's the matter, Tonal'?" cried Kenneth, as the old man kept on beckoning.

"She disna want onybody but ta Southron chiel'," said the old man sternly; and he continued to wave Max toward him with his long, claw-like hand.

For a few moments Max felt as if he must go—as if some force which he had not the moral courage to resist was drawing him, and he was about to rise, when the old man gave a fierce stamp with his foot.

"You'll be obliged to go, Maxy," said Kenneth. "Have a concert all to yourself for three or four hours. It will be rather windy, but the rain doesn't come in on one side of the old tower room."

"No, no, not to-day!" cried Max hastily.

"Oh, you'll have to go," said Kenneth, as the old man kept on waving his hand imperiously. "Won't he, Scood?"

"Ou ay, she'll have to go and hear ta pipes."

As if angered at the invitation not being accepted, old Donald took a couple of strides forward into the kitchen.

This was too much for Sneeshing, who leaped up on to his four short legs, barked furiously, and then, overcome by recollections of the last air he had heard, he threw up his head so as to straighten his throat, and gave forth the most miserable howl a dog could utter.

Old Donald shouted something in Gaelic, and made for the dog, which began to bark and snap at him, and this roused Dirk and Bruce to take part with him in baying at the old piper, who stopped short, as if startled at the array of teeth.

The noise was so great that Grant the butler came hurrying in.

"Turn those dogs oot!" he cried. "You, Tonal', what do you want?"

"Ta Southron chiel'," said the old man mysteriously.

"She lo'es ta pipes, and she'll play him ta Mackhai's Mairch."

Turning to Max, he waved him toward the door.

"No, no, not to-day," said Grant, who read the young visitor's reluctance to go.

"But ta chiel' lo'es ta pipes," cried Donald.

"Then you shall play to him another time."

"Yes, another time, Tonal'. Be off now, and I'll bring ye a wee drappie by and by," cried Kenneth.

"She'll pring her a wee drappie? Good laddie! She shall pring her a wee drappie, and she wass nice and try up in the tower, and she wass make a nice fire."

He made a mysterious sign or two, suggestive of his making a silent promise to give his young master all the music he had intended for Max, and went slowly out of the great stone-floored place.

"Noo, send oot the dogs," said Grant; and, to make sure, he did it himself, a quiet wave of his hand being sufficient to drive them all out into the yard behind the kitchen.

"She said she should soon pe fine," said Long Shon, as a gleam of sunshine shot through the window; for the storm was passing over, and its rearguard, in the form of endless ragged fleecy clouds, could be seen racing across the blue sky; while, in an hour from then, the sky was swept clear, and the sun shone out bright and warm.

"Now," cried Kenneth, "let's get the rifles, and go and have a stalk."

"It would jist aboot be madness," said Grant; "and the Chief would be in a fine way. Tell him he can't go."

"Oh ay! he's spout richt, Maister Ken. She's too fu' o' watter to go over the mountain and through ta glen."

"She wass saying she'd go and tak' the young chentleman to see the fa's."

"Ay, there's a gran' fa' o' watter the noo," said Tavish.

"Oh, very well, then; let's go and see the falls. Come along, Scoody. I'll get a gun. You'll take yours, Max."

"Shall I?"

"Yes, of course. We may get a good shot at something."

The two lads went back into the hall, and, passing through a swing door, they suddenly came upon The Mackhai pacing up and down.

He looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Max, and was evidently going to say something; but he checked himself, and went quickly into the library and shut the door.

"I'd give something to know what's the matter with father," said Kenneth thoughtfully. "He never used to be like this."

Max felt uncomfortable, and, being very sensitive, he turned to his companion:

"Have I done anything to annoy him?" he asked.

"You? No. What nonsense! There, come along. We haven't had such a day as this for ever so long, and I've been indoors till I can hardly breathe. Why not have a sail?"

Max looked aghast at the heaving sea.

"Perhaps it is a bit too rough," said Kenneth. "Never mind; we'll go and see the falls."

Ten minutes later they were skirting round the little bay, to turn in by the first swollen river, to track its bed up to the mountain, where the "fa's" they were to see were to be found, and, even as they went, a low, deep, humming sound came to the ear, suggestive of some vast machinery in motion; while the river at their side ran as if it were so much porter covered with froth, great flakes of which were eddying here and there, and being cast up in iridescent patches on the stony banks.

At the end of a quarter of an hour's climbing and stumbling among the wet rocks and bushes, during which the two big dogs had been trotting quietly along at their master's heels, and Sneeshing, in a wonderful state of excitement, hunting everywhere for that rabbit which he had on his mind, Max stopped short.

"Hallo! Tired?" cried Kenneth, laughing.

"Oh no! But it seems such a pity to go hurrying on. Wait a few minutes."

Kenneth laughed, and yet he could not help feeling gratified at his companion's enthusiasm.

"Here, hold hard a bit, Tawy," he cried. "Stop a bit, Shon."

The two men halted; the dogs settled themselves upon a sunny rock, Bruce with his pointed nose comfortably across Dirk's rough, warm frill, and Sneeshing curled himself up in the angle formed by the two dogs' bodies, close up to and as much under Dirk's long hair as he could; while Scoodrach seated himself on a huge block of black slate, which did not belong to the place, but must have fallen from some vein high up the gorge, and been brought down by wintry floods, a little way at a time, during hundreds of years, till it lay jammed in among the great blocks of granite like a chip in a basin of lumps of sugar. This piece of slate suited Scoodrach's eye, and he took out his big knife and began to sharpen it.

Long Shon took a little curly sheep's horn out of his pouch, and had a pinch of snuff.

Tavish filled a dumpy black wooden pipe, and began to smoke; while Kenneth, as he smilingly watched Max, hummed over Black Donald's bagpipe tune, "The March of the Clan Mackhai."

"Well," said Kenneth at last, breaking the silence, through which came a low, deep, humming roar, "what do you think of Dunroe?"

"Think!" cried Max, in a low, deep voice; "it's heavenly."

And he stood gazing up the narrow glen, with its intensely dark shadows among the rocks, through which the brilliant sun-rays struck down, making the raindrops which hung upon the delicate leaves of the pendent birches glisten like diamonds.

For it was one beautiful series of pictures at which the lad gazed: patches of vivid blue above, seen through the openings among the trees; right below, the foaming river coming down in a hundred miniature falls; silver-stemmed and ruddy-bronze birches rooting in the sides, and sending their leaves and twigs hanging over like cascades of verdure; pines and spruces rising up on all sides like pyramids of deep, dark green; and everywhere the masses of rock glittering with crystals, and clothed with mosses of the most vivid tints, and among whose crevices the ferns threw up their pointed, softly-laced fronds.

The sunlight glanced down like sheaves of dazzling silver arrows; and over the water, and softly riding down the glen, came soft, filmy clouds of mist, so fine and delicate that they constantly faded into invisibility; while every now and then there were passing glimpses of colour appearing and disappearing over the rushing torrent, as if there had been a rainbow somewhere up above—one which had broken up, and these were its fragments being borne away.

"I never saw anything so beautiful," said Max, almost wondering at his companion's want of enthusiasm.

"And do you know what makes it so beautiful?"

"It was made so."

"Yes; but it is the sun. If a black cloud came over now, and it began to rain, the place would look so gloomy and miserable that you'd want to hurry home."

"Yes; ta young Chief's richt," said Tavish, nodding his head. "It's ta ferry wettest place I know when ta rain comes doon and ta wind will plow."

"Let's go on," said Kenneth after awhile. "It gets more and more beautiful higher up."

"It can't be!" cried Max. "And is this all your father's property?"

"Yes," said Kenneth proudly; "this all belongs to The Mackhai."

"Ant it will aal pelong to ta young Chief some tay, when he crows a pig man."

Max went on with a sigh, but only to find that the place really did grow more beautiful as they climbed on, while the deep, humming roar grew louder and more awe-inspiring as they penetrated farther and farther into the recesses of the mountain. For the long and heavy rain had charged the fountains of the hills to bursting. Every lakelet was brimming, every patch of moss saturated, and from a thousand channels, that were at first mere threads, the water came rushing down to coalesce in the narrow glen, and eddy, and leap, and swirl, and hurry on toward the sea.

"Why are we climbing up so high?" said Max suddenly.

"To show you our glen, and take you up by the falls."

A curious shrinking sensation came upon Max, and Kenneth noticed it.

"This isn't the Grey Mare's Tail," he said, laughing; "and we're not in a boat."

"I can't help feeling a little nervous," said Max frankly. "I am not used to this sort of thing."

"And we are. Yes, of course. It's too bad to laugh at you. Come on."

"Is there any danger?"

"Well, of course there is, if you go and tumble in, but you needn't go near."

The humming roar grew louder as they tramped on along a sheep-track in and out among the huge stones which had fallen from the sides of the great gully. Now they were in deep shadow, where brilliant speckled fungi, all white and red, stood out like stools beneath the birch trees; then they were high up on quite a shelf, where the turf and moss were short, and the sun shone out clearly; and ever, as they turned angle after angle of the great zigzag, the roar of the water grew louder, till, after another hour's slow climbing, they descended a sloping green track and came into a great hollow directly facing them; and a couple of hundred feet overhead, a narrow rift, out of which poured an amber stream of water on to a huge block of rock some twenty feet below, the result being that the great spout of amber water was broken and turned into a sheet of foam, which spread out all over the great block, and fell sheer the rest of the distance, over a hundred and fifty feet, into a vast hollow below. Here it careered round and round, and rushed onward toward where the group were standing, while high above all floated a cloud of fine vapour which resembled white smoke, and upon which played the iridescent colours of half a rainbow, completing the picture in a way which made Max watch it in silent delight.

"Well, what do you think of it?" said Kenneth, who was amused by the London lad's rapt manner.

"Eh? think?" said Max, starting and colouring.

"Yes. What were you thinking?"

"I was wishing that it was mine—all my own, so that I could come and sit here and think."

"Well, you may come here and sit and think, but it never will be yours. It has always belonged to the Mackhais ever since they conquered the Mackalps, and took it with claymore and targe. There was a tremendous fight up above there, and, as my ancestors cut down the Mackalps, they threw them into the stream at the top, and there they were shot out over the fall, and carried right out to sea."

"How horrible!"

"Horrible? Why, it was all considered very brave and grand, and we are very proud of it. There's a sword down at the castle that they say was used in the great fight."

"And are you proud of it?"

"I don't know. I suppose so. Does seem queer, though, to chop chaps with swords and pitch 'em into the water. Rather an awkward place to come down, wouldn't it, Max?"

"Awful!"

"Well, never mind talking about it. Come up and see."

"What! climb up there?"

"To be sure. Oh, you needn't be afraid. It's quite safe. You go up that narrow path, and get round in among those birch trees, and that brings you out by the top."

"I—"

"Oh, don't come if you're scared," said Kenneth contemptuously.

Max rose from the stone upon which he had been seated.

"I'm ready," he said.

"Well, you are a rum chap, Maxy," cried Kenneth, clapping him on the shoulder. "Sometimes I think you are the jolliest coward I ever saw, and sometimes I think you've got plenty of pluck. Which is it?"

"I'm afraid I'm very cowardly," said Max sadly.

"Oh, come, now I'm sure of it!" cried Kenneth warmly.

"That I am a great coward?"

"No; that you're full of pluck. My father says that a fellow must be very brave to own he is a coward. Come on."

They started up the side, with Scoodrach following close behind.

"Going up to ta top o' ta fa's, Maister Kenneth?" shouted Long Shon.

"Yes. Coming with us?"

"She'd petter tak' care," cried Tavish. "There's a teal o' watter, and ta stanes is ferry wat."

"All right, Tavvy; we'll mind," cried Kenneth; and he plunged in among the bushes and rocks, to begin climbing upward in and out, and gradually leaving the rushing waters of the fall behind, while, as the misty foam with its lovely ferny surroundings faded from the eye, the loud splash and roar gradually softened upon the ear till the sound was once more a deep, murmurous hum, which acted as a bass accompaniment to a harsh, wild air which Scoodrach began to sing, or rather bray.

Kenneth stopped short, held back the bushes of hazel dotted with nuts, and turned round to give Max a comical look.

"What's the matter, Scoody?" he cried. "Eh? ta matter? I only scratched my hand wi' a bit thorn."

"Oh! Well, you needn't make so much noise about it."

"Noise spout it! She titn't mak' nae noise."

"Yes, you did. You hulloaed horribly."

"She titn't. She was chust singing a wee bit sang."

"Singing? Did you say singing?"

"Ay, she was chust singing ta Allambogle."

"Do you hear that, Maxy? he thinks he was singing."

"Wah!" ejaculated Scoodrach; and the little party climbed on, with Max wondering how anybody could find breath to make such a noise when climbing up so great a steep.

In a few minutes the sound of the fall began to grow louder once more, and a shrinking sensation to attack Max; but he put a bold face upon the matter, and followed close to Kenneth till the latter turned to him.

"Here we are," he said, "close to the spout." Max looked, but could see nothing, only a dense tangle of hazel stubbs among the green moss, at whose roots grew endless numbers of fungi, shaped like rough chalices, and of the colour of a ripe apricot.

"I can't see it."

"No, not there; but you can here."

As he spoke, Kenneth divided the bushes, and held them apart for his companion to join him, and the next moment they were standing on the brink of a narrow rift in the rock, so narrow that the bush-tips met overhead, and made the water that glided silently along many feet below look quite dark.

"But that's not the whole of the water which goes over the fall," said Max wonderingly.

"Every drop. It's narrow, but it's fine and deep, and when it spouts out it falls on to the stones and spreads round so as to look big—makes the most of itself. Now then, are you tired?"

"Yes; my legs ache a bit."

"Very well, then, this is the nearest way home."

"I don't understand you."

"Jump in here, and the water would carry you right away down to the bathing-cave. Scood and I have sent strings of corks down here, and the stream has carried them right to Dunroe."

"I think I'd rather walk," said Max, smiling.

"So would I. Now come on and see where the water falls."

He led the way, and Max and Scoodrach followed, the latter, who was musically disposed that morning, taking advantage of the noise made by the falls to use it as a cloak to cover his own, with the result that every now and then Max was startled by hearing sounds close behind him remarkably suggestive of Donald Dhu being close upon their track, armed with his pipes, and doing battle with all his might.

"Here you are," cried Kenneth, brushing through the last of the hazel boughs, and standing out on the rock close to the edge of the great hollow into which the water poured; and the shrinking sensation increased, as Max joined his friend, and found that there was nothing to protect him from falling into the great gulf at whose brink they stood.

All this struck him for the moment, but the dread was swept away by the rush of thought which took its place. For there below, as he gazed down at the falling water arching from the narrow rift into a stony basin, to then rush over the sides and fall in a silvery veil, to the deep chasm fringed with delicate dew—sparkling greenery, amidst whose leaves and boughs floated upward a cloud of white mist, which kept changing, as the sun shone upon it, to green and yellow and violet and orange of many depths of tone, but all dazzlingly bright, one melting into the other and disappearing to reappear in other rainbow hues.

Far below them, toward where the rugged hollow opened out to allow of the escape of the water from the falls, Tavish and Long Shon could be seen, seated on the stones they had chosen, smoking their pipes and basking in company with the dogs, for the warm rays of a sunny day had of late been rare.

"There's a teal o' watter in the fa's," said Scoodrach gravely.

"Of course there is, stupid, after this rain," cried Kenneth. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Couldn't tell her nothing she don't know," cried Scoodrach. "She reats books, and goes to school, and learns efferything."

"That's just what the masters say I don't do, Scoody. Here, let's go down to the basin."

"What! get down there?" cried Max in horror, as Kenneth seated himself on the edge of the stony channel through which the water came down from the mountain before making its leap.

"Yes; it's easy enough," cried Kenneth, dangling his legs to and fro, and making them brush through the fronds of a beautiful fern growing in a crevice. "Scoody and I have often been down."

"But she shall not go pelow now," said the young gillie, looking down at the smooth, glassy current. "There's chust too much watter in ta way."

"Get out!" cried Kenneth. "Look here, Max: you can get down here to the edge of the water, and follow it to where it makes its first leap, and then get under it to the other side, and clamber on to the edge of the basin where it spreads, and look down. It's glorious. Come on."

"Na, she will not come," cried Scoodrach. "There's too much watter."

"You're a worse coward than Max."

"Nay, she shall na go," cried Scoodrach, making a bound to the spot where Kenneth was seated; but quick as thought the lad twisted round, let himself glide down, and, as the young gillie made a dash at his hands, they slid over the moss and grass and were gone.

Kenneth's merry laugh came up out of the narrow rift, sounding muffled and strange, and the two lads looked down to where he was creeping along, some fifteen feet below them, in the half-darkness of the hollow, and holding on by the pendent roots which issued from the crevices, as he picked his way along the stones, with the water often washing against his feet.

"Come down, Max. Don't be a coward," he cried, as he looked up over his shoulder at the two anxious faces, while the hiss, rush, and roar of the water nearly covered with sound his half-heard voice.

"She's coing to troon herself, ye ken!" cried Scoodrach, stamping his foot with rage. "Come pack, Maister Ken! Do she hear me? Come pack!"

Kenneth probably did not hear the words, but he looked up again and laughed, as he stood near the end of the narrow gully, with the sunny light of the great hollow behind him showing up his form, and at the same time his face was lit up strangely by the weird gleam of a reflection from the rushing, glassy, peat-stained stream as it glided on to the mouth of the gully for its leap.

"She canna stay here and see her young maister troon herself," cried Scoodrach wildly. "She must go town and ket trooned too."

"Coming, Scoody?" cried Kenneth, as he half turned round where he stood on a little block of stone, against which the water surged.

Scoodrach was in the act of seating himself upon the edge previous to lowering himself down, and, why he knew not, he hesitated and spoke, half to Max, half to himself.

"She'll go and trag her pack! she'll go and trag her pack!" Then he uttered a hoarse cry, for, as they saw Kenneth, framed in as it were by the narrow rock, gazing back at them, while the swift gleaming water swept by his legs, they suddenly noted that he started and made a clutch at an overhanging root which came away in his hands, while the stone upon which he was standing tottered over and disappeared in the rushing water.

But Kenneth was active as a monkey; and, failing in his first attempt to grasp something to support him, he made a second leap and caught at a hazel bough which grew out horizontally above his head.

This time he was successful, and, as the sturdy bough bent and swayed, the lad hung right over the rushing water.

"Chump! Swing and chump, Maister Ken!" cried Scoodrach; and then he was silent, and sat staring wildly, for he realised that he could not help his young master—that there would not be time.

Kenneth was swinging to and fro, the bough dipping and rising and dipping, so low that the water almost touched his feet. As he hung he tried to get a better hold, and made a struggle to go hand over hand to the place where the bough joined the mossy roots.

But it was all in vain. Before he could get his loosened hand past a secondary branch, the rotten root broke away from its insecure hold in the gully wall, and one moment the two spectators saw Kenneth hanging there, his form shown up by the light behind; the next, they saw branch and its holder descend quickly into the glassy water, which was momentarily disturbed by a few leafy twigs standing above its surface, then a hand appeared, then again with half the arm, making a clutch at vacancy, and then there was nothing but the water gliding onward to the opening through which it leaped down into the basin on the top of the spreading rock.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

RIVAL DOCTORS.

For a few moments Scoodrach was as if frozen. He sat gazing at the rushing water, and then he sprang up and dashed past Max, shouting,—

"Come on! come on pefore he's trooned."

Max rushed after him, following the best way he could, for Scoodrach had disappeared among the low growth of hazel, and it was only by listening to the sound that he was able to make out the way the young gillie had gone.

The distance was only some fifty yards down, through a depression which led round to a kind of shelf just level with the top of the huge mass of rock on to which the water fell, and Max forgot the danger in the excitement, as he reached Scoodrach, who was standing holding on by the thin branch of a birch tree which had grown outward, and hung drooping over the great hollow below, and so near to the falling foam that its outer leaves were sprinkled with the spray.

As Max crept to his side, Scoodrach gave him a horrified look, and pointed at something in the bubbling water at the edge of the basin.

"What'll she do?" he cried despairingly; "if she climbs along the tree, she canna chump it. Oh, look, look! Maister Ken! Maister Ken!"

Even if it had been possible, there was no time to render help, for, as they gazed wildly at the basin into which the clear, smooth jet of water fell, they saw that the apparently inanimate body of Kenneth was borne nearer and nearer to the edge of the stone, and then slowly onward, to glide over in the spreading veil, and then disappear in the foam and mist far below.

"Pack again and doon to the bottom!" yelled Scoodrach, and he rushed by Max so fiercely that he had to clutch at and hold on by a sapling to prevent his own fall headlong into the watery hollow.

Max drew himself safely to the perpendicular wall, and crept back now along the rugged ledge, which had not impressed him with its risky nature before, and the perspiration stood out clammily on his temples as he reached the place where he had begun to descend.

He was here in a dense growth of nut and birch, and he listened vainly for the rustling made by Scoodrach as he ran down.

There was the dull roar of the falls behind him, and then a loud shout, and either an echo or one in answer; but that was all; and a horrible feeling of misery and despair at his helplessness came over the lad, as he thought the worst, and of how terrible it would be to go back to the castle and tell the tale.

His first instinct prompted him to cast himself down upon the earth and yield to the sensation of despair, but his second was to go on and try and do something to help.

In this intent he looked wildly round, to see nothing but a wilderness of undergrowth, and in his excitement he dashed straight on, striking the hazel stems to right and left, and, stumbling and falling again and again, he ended by rolling and scrambling down a steep slope, to drop into what might have been some terrible chasm, but only, as it happened, a few feet, and, as he gathered himself up, it seemed that he had inadvertently hit upon the rough track by which he had ascended.

At the end of a minute he recognised a peculiar-looking patch of rock jutting out above him, and recalled how he had compared it to the head of a bullock as he had clambered up.

That was enough, and the rest of the descent proved comparatively easy, till he reached a spot where he could see on his right the foaming waters of the fall, and down below, on the left, a glint or two of the torrent, as it escaped from the lower basin and hurried along the deep ravine toward the sea.

He gazed wildly at the base of the fall, in the vain hope that he might catch sight of Kenneth clinging to some projecting stone; then he scanned the wild below, but he could see nothing of his companions.

There was the spot where Tavish and Long Shon had sat smoking, but they were gone, and there was no sign of Scoodrach. Nothing but the falling water, with its deep, musical, humming roar, and the grand picture of rock and tree made dim and distant-looking by the rising clouds of rainbow-tinted spray.

He shouted with all his might, but there was only a dull echo; and, after repeating his cry, and feeling that it was drowned by the deep roar, he gave one more despairing look round, and ran on downward for a few yards, but only to turn and almost retrace his steps by the rough zigzag track, when he felt a strange catching of the breath, and stopped short, just where, some distance below, a curve of the rushing stream opened out before him, all white foam and glancing water, glistening and flashing in the sun.

He had noticed it as he climbed upward with Kenneth and Scoodrach, and a strange sensation of delight had thrilled him. But the beauty was all gone, and he could see nothing now but the scene which seemed to check his breath and fill him with despair.

For there, at the foot of a glistening curve of water which seemed to leap from amidst a pile of black rocks, stood Tavish, bending forward. Long Shon was below him, standing waist-deep, and holding on to prevent being swept away, while Scoodrach was many feet above, climbing to his right, and evidently scanning the stream.

"They think he's washed down there," cried Max aloud, "when he must be up yonder at the foot of the falls."

He shouted wildly, but his feeble voice would not penetrate to them as they stood amidst the racing water, and in his agony Max was in the act of starting to run again, when he saw Scoodrach throw up his hands, and directly after Tavish seemed to make a bound into the foam, where he fell and disappeared.

Max's mouth felt dry at this fresh misfortune, and he stood as if turned to stone, waiting to see the gillie reappear, which he did, but not where Max expected by fifty yards farther down the stream, where Long Shon stood, and, as the latter held on with one hand, he could be seen to stoop and catch at something in the water.

Max could hardly believe what he saw, as Tavish rose up high above Long Shon, when the pair slowly climbed out, the great forester with something beneath one arm.

The frozen feeling of helplessness passed off, and Max ran on down the rough slope, nearly falling again and again in his eagerness to reach the spot where from time to time he could see the group, on a green bed of moss beneath some pendulous birches; and when at last he reached them, it was to find Kenneth lying upon his back, with his head and shoulders supported against Tavish as he knelt there; Scoodrach stooping and holding his hand; and Long Shon busily binding up a cut upon the lad's head, the blood from which had trickled down over one cheek.

"Is—is he dead?" cried Max hoarsely.

There was no reply, and Max felt his heart seem to contract as he stood in the pool of water which had streamed down from the group.

"Na, na," said Tavish, suddenly thrusting away Long Shon's hand. "She'd petter let her pleed."

Long Shon looked at him wonderingly, but gave way.

"Maybe she shall. Puir laddie, ye canna dee like that."

But for a time it seemed as if poor Kenneth's race was run, so still and white he looked.

"The doctor! some one go for a doctor."

"There's nae doctor this side o' Stirling or Inverness," said Long Shon quietly. "Puir laddie! Was this your doing, Scoody?"

"Na, father; she tried to stop her," cried the boy piteously. "She wouldna stay. Is she trooned?"

"Trooned! nay, not she," cried Tavish exultantly. "Look at her een. She chust gave ane wee bit blinkie. Bide a wee, laddie, and she'll be upon her legs again."

They watched and waited in a state of the greatest excitement, all but Scoodrach, who, after giving himself a shake like a water-dog, and wringing his kilt in front and behind, began to whistle in the most indifferent manner, and ended by walking coolly away, to the astonishment of all.

But they were too busy with Kenneth to pay any heed to the young gillie's eccentricities, no one heeding his disappearance, as the half-drowned boy's hands were chafed, and Tavish gently lowered his head till he could lay it on a tuft of heath.

There had been a quiver or two of the eyelids, as Tavish had said, and from time to time there was a faint fluttering of the pulses, but after these manifestations the poor fellow seemed to relapse, and Long Shon, who had been fidgeting and muttering against the forester's treatment, impatiently dashed his bonnet on the ground.

"Ye're a' wrang, Tavvy!" he exclaimed,—"ye're a' wrang! Lat me tak' haud o' the laddie's heels, and let her hing doon my back wi' her heid close to the groon'."

"Hwhat for?" cried Tavish.

"Hwhat for?" cried Long Shon contemptuously. "Canna ye see that the puir bairn's fu' o' watter. Lat's turn her up, man, an' lat a' t' watter rin oot o' her mooth. Here, stan' aside."

"Gin ye touch the laddie, Long Shon, I'll gie ye a ding atween the een as shall mak' ye see stars for a month. D'ye think I dinna ken that it would kill the bairn at ance?"

"Na!" growled Long Shon; "I've seen 'em do it wi' the trooned men after a wrack."

"Ay, and I've seen 'em dee wi' doing that same, Long Shon. D'ye think I dinna ken what I'm aboot?"

"Ay," cried Long Shon stoutly, as Tavish kept on pressing Kenneth's ribs with mighty force and letting them go.

"Ye're glad enow to come and lat me doctor ye, though, man. Hing the puir laddie by his heels to lat the watter oot! Maun, ane wad think ye were aboot to haunle a stag, and cut her up to send to toon. Hah! see him the noo! see him the noo! Kenneth laddie—Kenneth, my bonnie chiel'! Light o' my een, my bonnie young Chief! Hech! Hech! Hech for ta Mackhai! Look at her the noo!"

Tavish had sprung up, uttering a wild yell, leaping off the ground, and waving his bonnet in the air. For Kenneth had opened his eyes, gazed wonderingly about, and then fixed them on Max, as he knelt down and took his hand, and smiled.

"What is it?" he said feebly. "What's the matter?"

Max was choking. A great ball seemed to be rising in his throat, and he had to get up hastily and turn away to hide his emotion.

"I—don't quite—What's the matter, Tavvy?"

"Matter, my bonnie laddie!" cried the great forester, dropping on his knees and placing his hands tenderly on the injured brow; "on'y a wee bit scratch on the heid. Gie's the cloth, Shon lad, and I'll bind it up. Ye had a dip i' the watter, but ye're a' richt the noo."

"Yes, I'm all right now," said Kenneth feebly; and he smiled faintly in the great forester's face, as the great rough fellow bound up his brow as tenderly as a woman.

Max had drawn back, and, as soon as the two men's attention was taken up, he crept round behind a clump of the hazels, and, as soon as he was well alone, the pent-up emotion would have vent, and, sobbing wildly, he dropped upon his knees and covered his face with his hands, repeating the prayer of thanksgiving that rose to his lips:

"Thank God! Thank God!"

Then he started to his feet, ashamed of his emotion, dreading lest any one should have seen his position and heard his words, for a low, hoarse moan seemed to come from farther in the little patch of woodland.

Was there some one else hurt? he thought; and, taking a few steps in the direction, he came suddenly upon Scoodrach at full length upon the moss, face downwards and buried in the soft green growth, while his hands were clutching his shortly-cut hair behind, and his shoulders heaved as he moaned forth,—

"She'll never hantle a poat acain! she'll never rin wi' her ower the hills! Maister—Maister Ken, she's deid, she's deid!"

"No, no, Scood!" cried Max excitedly. "He's better! He has just come to!"

Scood sprang to his feet, and a flash of wild delight darted from his wet red eyes. Then, as if recollecting himself, he dashed his hand across them and gave it a slap against his side, scowling heavily.

"On'y ta watter rin doon oot o' her hair," he said surlily. "Ta young Chief's not trooned?"

"No, no, Scood; he's—"

Max stared, for Scoodrach had turned his back, begun to whistle, and walked away.

"He was ashamed to let me see him crying," thought Max. "I'm not the only coward in the world."

He stood for a few moments gazing after Scoodrach, and then walked quickly back, to find Kenneth sitting up.

"She's a teal petter the noo," cried Tavish triumphantly. "There, laddie; ye'll get up, and we'll chust gang hame."

"Yes; I'm not much hurt, Max," said Kenneth, with a ghastly attempt at a laugh. "I say, old chap, you couldn't do that. Here, give us your hand."

Max eagerly tried to help him rise, and Kenneth made a brave effort to get upon his legs, but he snatched at the forester's arm, with his face contracting and turning ghastly pale, as his eyes looked dim and then half closed.

They gently laid him down, and bathed his forehead with water.

"Chust a wee bit dizzy, puir laddie," said Tavish tenderly. "Bide a wee, Long Shon, till he opes his een acain, and then ye shall put him on my pack, and I'll carry him doon to the shore, and we'll mak' Scood rin on and ket the poat and twa pillows, and ket him richt across to the rock."

"Ay," said Long Shon approvingly. "But she must hae a teal o' watter in her; shall she rin it oot the noo?"

"Na, na!" cried Tavish, in a low, fierce growl. "Hey, Scoody!"

"Well?" came from close by, and the young gillie showed himself, with his face half averted.

"Rin, bairn, and get ta little poat an' row her to ta mooth o' ta stream," cried Long Shon.

"Ay," cried Scoodrach, turning eagerly to run.

"An', Scoody, my laddie," cried Tavish, "ye'll chust ask Maister Crant to fling twa pillows in ta poat."

"Yes."

"And, Scoody, ye'll chust say that the young Chief is a' richt the noo, but that we're a' wat wi' sweet watter, and if she thinks a wee drappie o' whusky would pe good for ta young Chief and the rest, she can pit it in ta poat."

Scoodrach nodded, and ran off rapidly over the rugged ground, bounding across the stones like a goat, and Kenneth now tried to rise.

"Ye'll pe a pit petter the noo, Maister Kenneth," said Tavish tenderly. "She's chust sent for ta poat, and she'll kneel doon, and Long Shon will help ye to get upo' her back, ant she'll carry ye chently doon to ta mooth o' ta stream."

"Oh no, Tavvy; I can walk."

"Nay, laddie, ye canna walk. It winna pe ta first time she's carriet ye on her pack. Noo, Long Shon, chust gie ta young Chief a lift, and— that's ta way. Did she hurt ye?"

"Not—very much," said Kenneth, with a shudder of pain. "Thank ye, Tav, old chap. There, I'm like a little boy again; but it's too bad to let you carry me."

"Haud yer wheesht, Maister Ken—haud yer wheesht!" cried the big forester angrily. "What would she pe for if it wasna to help ta young Chief o' ta Mackhai? Why, Long Shon here and she would lie doon for ye to walk upo' us if it would do ye good."

"Ay!" cried Long Shon.

"Noo then, slow and steady. Come along, Maister Max; and we'll be doon to the sands before Scoodrach can get across ta bay."

The great fellow walked slowly and carefully down the gully; but, before they had gone far, Kenneth's head dropped, and they laid him down again, to revive him after a few minutes by bathing his face on the brink of the rushing stream, after which Tavish raised him as tenderly as if he had been a baby, and bore him in his arms.

They reached the shore at last, after a very slow progress, to find Scoodrach approaching fast, and tugging at the oars with all his might.

"Is ta Mackhai at hame?" cried Long Shon, as the boy came within hail.

"Na," shouted Scoodrach, without turning his head, and toiling away till he was close in, when he reversed the boat, and backed in till she grounded on the sand.

The pillows were there, so was the whisky, but no one touched it. Kenneth was laid carefully in the stern, and Max supported him, Scoodrach scowling angrily at being sent into the bows; while the two men made the water surge beneath the keel till they reached the rock, where, once more taking the injured lad in his arms as if he were a babe, Tavish carried him up the rock, and then right up to his bedroom, where he stopped and tended him as carefully as a trained nurse.

"I've been a' ower him, Maister Crant, and ye may rest easy till ta Mackhai comes pack. If she likes to sent for ta toctor, weel, let her sent; pit there's naething wrang wi' the laddie, nae banes brukkit, and naething wrang inside. She has gien her heit a gran' ding or twa, and she's verra sair, and she's been maist trooned. I've seen to manny a worse hurt than hers, so let the bairn go to sleep, and we'll see her when she wacks."



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

AN ANXIOUS TIME.

The Mackhai did not return home till the next morning, and his first inquiry was why had not a doctor been fetched.

He nodded with satisfaction at the answer he received.

Tavish and Grant had sat up all night with their young master, and Max had been to them at least a dozen times, for a consultation to be held at daybreak, and for Tavish to agree that something must be done.

The result had been that he and Long Shon had taken the boat before sunrise, and gone off to Port Staffey, where Grant knew a medical man to be staying for a holiday, and to fish.

For poor Kenneth was quite delirious, and about midday, after going out on the terrace to scan the offing eagerly for signs of the boat, The Mackhai went back into the house, and up to his son's room, to hear the injured lad talking at random, and a hoarse sob escaped from the father's lips.

"My poor boy!" he groaned; "and am I to lose you? Well, better so, perhaps—better than to live a beggar, ready to curse your weak father for the ruin he has brought—Hah! how came you here?"

His voice had changed from a soft, appealing tone to one full of angry annoyance, as he saw Max slowly rise up from the other side of the bed, where he had been seated, hidden by the curtain.

"I came to sit with poor Kenneth, sir. I beg your pardon. I'll go now."

"If you please," said The Mackhai coldly, and there was a bitterly fierce look of dislike in his eyes, as he crossed toward the door and threw it open for Max to pass out; but the next moment he had closed it hastily, and he held out his hand.

Max looked at him wonderingly.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Blande," said The Mackhai, in a low voice, full of courteous apology. "I am in trouble, and hardly know what I have been saying."

He pointed as he spoke toward the bed, and then his countenance worked, and he wrung the boy's hand warmly, as Max caught his, and whispered in broken tones,—

"Oh, sir, you don't think he is so very bad?"

"I hope not, my lad, I hope not. Thank you, thank you. No, no, don't go. You are Kenneth's visitor and friend."

"But do pray tell me what you think of him," whispered Max excitedly.

"I cannot say. We shall have the doctor here soon."

"I should like to stay and hear what he says, sir; and then—perhaps—I ought not to—I shall be—intruding—I ought to go away."

"No, no," said The Mackhai hastily; "certainly not. My boy would not wish you to leave him—that is, if you wish to stay."

"May I?" cried Max, with such intense earnestness that his host looked at him wonderingly.

"I beg you will stay, Mr Blande," he said; "and let's hope that he will be better soon. By the way, I hope you will forget what you heard me say."

Just then Kenneth turned uneasily upon his pillow, muttering quickly the while. Now he seemed to be talking to his dogs, now his words were a confused babbling, and then the occupants of the darkened room started as he burst into a fit of laughter, and said merrily,—

"No, no, Scoody; it's too bad! Poor old Max!"

Max felt the blood rise to his cheeks and gradually pale away; and then, for quite two hours, father and visitor sat watching, the monotony of the vigil being broken by an occasional walk to a window, which commanded the sea, and at last Max was able to announce that the boat was in sight.

"Thank heaven!" muttered The Mackhai.

They had to wait for a full half-hour, though, before they could be satisfied that there was a third person in the boat—all doubt being set at rest by The Mackhai fetching his binocular, whose general use was for deerstalking, but by whose help he was able to see that the third party in the boat was a stern-looking, dark, middle-aged man, who might very well be the doctor.

The doctor it was, and, after a careful examination, he confirmed Tavish's declaration.

"Oh no, my dear sir, I don't think it is as bad as that. The boy has concussion of the brain, and he is a great deal hurt beside; but he is young and vigorous, and I think I may venture to say that we'll pull him through. It would have killed you or me, but he is a boy accustomed evidently to a rough life."

The Mackhai wrung his hand: he could not speak for a few minutes, and the doctor left him to go back to the bedside to replace the coverlid Kenneth had tossed off, but The Mackhai noted that the doctor was too late, for Max was performing this little office, and the father observed that the lad gently laid his hand upon his son's brow.

"Of course you will stay and dine, Mr—?"

"Curzon," said the doctor, smiling.

"Mr Curzon; and then see my boy again before you go?"

"My dear sir, I shall be very glad to do so; but I think, under the circumstances, I ought to stay the night."

"Will you?" cried The Mackhai eagerly.

"With pleasure. I am down here fishing, and one place is the same to me as another. If I can serve you, I shall only be too glad."

"My good sir," cried The Mackhai, "you are taking a load off my mind! Pray, pray stay, and if you care to fish, my river and loch are at your service,—tackle, boats, keepers, everything,—while they are mine," he added to himself.

"Then," said the doctor, smiling, "I am your private medical attendant for the next week; and to-morrow, if you will send your boat for my traps from the hotel at Staffey—"

"Yes, to-night," said The Mackhai hastily; and he left the room, thankful for the ray of light which had come into his darkening life, but hurrying back, to find Kenneth holding tightly by Max's hand as he kept on talking, while the doctor was letting a few drops fall from a little bottle he had brought, into a glass of water.

"There," he said, "we'll get him to take that, and I think we shall get some sleep afterwards. To-morrow we must hope for better things."

But the morrow came, and the hope was not fulfilled. Kenneth Mackhai, in spite of his youth and strength, was dangerously ill, and the doctor's face wore an anxious look.

"I have ordered my men to have everything ready for you, Mr Curzon," said The Mackhai, with enforced calmness; and Max darted an angry glance on the man who could think of sport at a time like that.

"What, to fish, Mr Mackhai?" said the doctor quickly. "No, thank you; I'll wait till I can go more at ease."

"Thank you," said The Mackhai, in a husky voice; and Max darted now a grateful look. "But pray speak plainly to me: you think my poor boy very bad?"

"Yes, sir, very bad indeed; but, please God, we'll pull him through."

The Mackhai drew a long and painful breath, and, as Max looked towards him, he thought he had never seen so sad a countenance before.

He stole out on tip-toe, for it seemed to him that he was not wanted there; but, as he reached the landing, The Mackhai touched him on the shoulder:

"Come back soon," he whispered. "Kenneth seems more restful while you are here."

Max nodded silently, and hurried down to talk for a few moments with Tavish and Scoodrach of the patient's state. Then he hurried back, thinking, as he went up to Kenneth's room, that it must be months since he came, and he wondered how it was that he could feel so much at home.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE DOCTOR'S TASK DONE.

A fortnight's terrible anxiety, during which Max rarely left Kenneth's room. Every morning, though, it grew into a custom that he should go down to the old castle yard, where Tavish, Long Shon, old Donald, and Scoody were always waiting to hear his report of the patient's progress.

"An' has she askit for the pipes?" old Donald whispered mysteriously; and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he looked reproachfully at the speaker. "She's waiting and retty," he would say; "and a good lilt on ta pipes would do her all ta petter as ta physic stuff."

At the end of a week, Donald determined to try his medicine unasked, and struck up "The March of the Mackhai" under Kenneth's window.

The doctor rang the bell furiously, and Grant, who guessed what it meant, ran out and seized the old piper, to bundle him out of hearing.

That day there was nearly murder done, for Donald drew his sgian-dhu and swore he would have the butler's "bluid," to which Grant responded by firing half a pail of water at the furious old man, who was then carried off, foaming and muttering wildly in Gaelic, and was only calmed down by Long Shon telling him it would "kill ta young Chief" if he made so much noise.

Tavish was terribly low-spirited.

"Ta pools are fu' o' saumont," he would say, "and there's naebody to catch them, for the hand that throws a flee better nor ta whole wurrld lies low. Ye'll came and catch a saumont, Maister Max? Ta Chief said she was to shoot and fush, and have ta poat when she liked. Ye'll came the morning?"

"No, Tavish; I can't leave Kenneth; perhaps he'll want me to read to him."

"Rest? wha's ta use o' reating to ta laddie? If it was na for ta toctor, wha's a clever chiel' wi ta rod, what should we do?"

For the doctor stayed on, combining pleasure with work, seeing Kenneth two or three times a day, and fishing in the intervals.

"I shall never be able to repay you for your kindness, Curzon," said The Mackhai one morning.

"My dear sir," said the doctor, "you pay me every day. I never lived better; I never had a more comfortable room; and I never had better fishing."

"You are satisfied?"

"Satisfied! My dear sir, I am congratulating myself every hour upon my luck in being able to exchange my poor services for such comfortable quarters and excellent sport."

"Kenneth owes his life to you, and I shall never be sufficiently grateful."

"Well, he owes it to me because I was the nearest doctor. Any medical man would have done the same."

"You do not make enough of your skill."

"Nonsense, my dear sir! If you are satisfied, I am."

"And you feel sure that he is mending fast?"

"Oh yes, certain. The head trouble has passed now. Poor lad! he must have had a terrible fall. I went with your forester yesterday, and he showed me the place. It's little short of a miracle that he escaped alive."

That night Max was in Kenneth's room, waiting for him to wake up before he said good-night, for the night was hot and the invalid had gone to sleep.

Max was half leaning out of the open window, gazing at the sea sparkling with light, so that it was hard to tell where the stars ended and the reflections began.

Max was thinking. He had had his regular letters from his father, one of which was in answer to an apologetic epistle on his stopping so long, and hoping that he might be allowed to stay till Kenneth was quite recovered.

Mr Blande's letter, from the old Inn of Court, told his son that he was not to think of returning, but to make himself at home at Dunroe, and do everything he could to become acquainted with the place and people, at the same time learning all he could about the fishing and shooting.

"Make yourself a country gentleman as fast as you can, and even if the Mackhais are a little stiff and distant with you, do not resent it or take any notice of the slight, but stay."

"That would be very unpleasant if they did behave slightingly," said Max to himself. "Oh, he's awake now."

He left the window and went back to Kenneth's bedside, but it was only to find that he had merely moved restlessly, and was still fast asleep.

Max did not go back, but stood there patiently watching the sleeping lad, till a faint sound made him start, and he stared at the window, feeling half paralysed, for dimly seen against the darkness there as a head visible. Then there was more rustling, and the chest appeared; a couple of arms were passed in, and their owner began to draw himself up.

Burglars! an attack upon the place! What could it mean?

The intruder's face caught the light from the lamp, as he threw one leg over the window-sill, and sat there, as if hesitating about coming farther.

"Scoodrach!" cried Max. "How did you get up there?"

"She climbed up."

"But how dangerous! What made you do that?"

"She wanted to see ta young Chief, and they wadna let her come."

"How foolish of you! you might have slipped and fallen."

"They let you see her, and they tell her she shall na come. She will see ta young Mackhai."

He said this menacingly, as if Max were one of those who kept him away.

"But he is very ill."

"Scoodrach tid not make her ill."

"No, of course not; but go now, there's a good fellow. You'll see him as soon as he's better."

"She wants to see her the noo," growled the lad sullenly; "and she tries to keep her away."

"Nothing of the kind! Why, I tell you every morning how he is."

"Yes, but she wants to see hersel'. She's going to tie, and they wadna let her come oop."

"Kenneth is not going to die; he's much better."

"She wants to see for hersel'."

"Will you go down, then, as soon as you've seen?"

"She wants to know why Scoodrach canna stay, when a strange Southron stops always in ta place."

"I am a visitor here, and was asked to stay," said Max rather stiffly; but his words were not heard, for the young gillie had dropped into the room, and ran barelegged and barefoot over the carpet to the bedside, to bend down and gaze intently in Kenneth's face.

Just then a low cough was heard on the stair, and Scoodrach darted to the window, crept out, and disappeared, just as the door-handle faintly rattled.

Max went quickly to the window, but could only see something shadowy creeping downward, and he would have stopped gazing down at the climber, whose progress had a strange fascination for him, if the doctor's voice had not taken his attention.

"Perhaps you had better shut the window. Lovely night. Has he been sleeping quietly?"

"Yes."

"That's right. Going on capitally; but do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, nearly twelve. I was waiting for him to wake up and say good-night before I went."

"Then you'll have to wait till to-morrow morning, my dear sir, for he is in a deep, satisfying sleep, and I don't suppose he'll wake again. Good-night."

He shook hands and left the room, when Max's first step was to run to the window, and open it gently, but there was not a sound to be heard but the lapping of the waves among the rocks below.

Time after time The Mackhai, whose manner seemed greatly softened to him, suggested to Max that he should go fishing, shooting, or try one of the ponies.

"The keeper will go with you," he said; "and you seem to be wasting so much time. Why, we are turning you into quite a hospital nurse."

"Oh no; I would rather not go without Kenneth," said Max hastily; and The Mackhai said no more, being in doubt in his own mind whether the refusal was from cowardice or from disinclination to leave the invalid, who grew more fretful and impatient every day that he approached convalescence.

"Why can't you go and fish, or shoot, or do something, Max? You haven't tried for the trout yet. How I do hate to see you sitting there gaping at a fellow!"

"Did I gape?"

"Yes; you're always gaping, or bothering me to take one of old Curzon's doses. I say!"

"Yes."

"See Tavvy this morning?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That he wished you to get well, and come and catch some salmon."

"Well, it isn't my fault. I want to get well, don't I? A fellow can't want to lie here always, with his back getting sore. I say, do open the window."

Max glanced at the window to make sure.

"It is open," he said.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Look!"

"Well, shut it, then. I hate to hear the sea."

"I like it," said Max, closing the sash.

"Yes, you miserable Cockneys always do. It gives one the horrors when you can't go out. Is it high tide?"

"No; quite low."

"It can't be. Go and look."

Max went to the window and looked out.

"The rocks are bare ever so far out, and you can see all the yellow weed."

"No, I can't."

"I meant I can."

"Well, why don't you say what you mean? Phew! how hot this room is! You might open a window."

Max smiled at his companion's petulance, and opened the window.

"Now, you're laughing at a poor miserable beggar."

"No, no, Kenneth," said Max, taking his hand.

"Don't do that! I wish you wouldn't be such a molly. Can't you say 'No, no,' without catching hold of a fellow's hand?—and one 'no' is enough. How jolly hot it is! See old Tonal' this morning?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He wants to come up and play to you on the pipes."

"Did he say he would?"

"Yes; and that he'd cut his way to you if they didn't let him come. He was going to sharpen his broadsword this morning."

"Look here: if he came up and began to play, he'd drive me mad. You go down and get my double gun and some cartridges."

"What for?"

"You don't suppose I'm going to lie here and be driven mad! I'll shoot him like I would a hare."

"Nonsense!" said Max, laughing.

"Well, you go and let him blow to you."

"No, thank you; I hate it."

"So do I; only a chap who is going to be chief of a clan some day mustn't say he hates the horrible old row. Here, I shall get up."

He threw off the clothes; but Max dashed at him, and covered him to the shoulders.

"No, no!" he cried.

"There you go with your 'No, no,' again. You're just like a great girl, Max."

"Am I? I'm very sorry."

"What's the good of being sorry? Be more like a man. Oh dear! I am so tired of lying here!"

"Yes, it is very tiring."

"Well, I know that. I didn't want you to tell me. What did Scoody say?"

"He's very angry because they will not let him come up to you, and will hardly speak to me."

"No wonder."

"He says it's a shame for me to be always with you, and him not allowed to come."

"So it is. Poor old Scoody! Did he say 'she shall came'?"

"Yes, over and over again."

"So it is a shame, poor old chap! I'll bully father about it. I'd a deal rather have him here than you."

"Would you, Kenneth?"

"Yes, ever so much: hanging about one, and wanting to coddle one like an old woman! I hate it!"

"I'm very sorry. I did my best to make you comfortable."

"You don't do your best. It bores me."

"Shall I read to you a bit now?"

"No! Bother your old books! Who wants to lie here and be read to about your jolly old Hentys, and Friths, and Percy Groves? I don't want books; I want to go out on the mountain, or in the boat, and have a rattling good sail. Here, I shall get up."

Max seized him and pressed him back, for he was very weak.

"The doctor says if you get out of bed, you'll faint again, same as you did yesterday."

"All right!" said Kenneth, struggling feebly; "I want to faint the same as I did yesterday. It will be a change."

"Nonsense! you shall not get up."

Kenneth lay back panting.

"Oh, how I do hate you!" he cried. "Just you wait till I get strong again. I'll serve you out. Scoody and I will duck you, and get you on the pony, and—I know! Just you let me get a chance, and I'll send you sailing down the falls just the same as I did."

"No, you will not."

"Oh, won't I? you'll see. If you knock me about again like this, I'll wait my chance, and pepper you with grouse-shot, and see how you like that. I say!"

"Yes, Kenneth."

"Don't say 'Yes, Kenneth,' say 'Yes.' Look here: why doesn't Long Shon come to ask how I am?"

"He does, every morning."

"He doesn't! a miserable old duck's legs!"

"But he does. I told you so."

"That you didn't. You take advantage of my lying here, and—Oh, I say, you might shut that window, it does make it so hot."

Max rose to go and close the window; but Kenneth caught his hand and held it, looking up at him wet-eyed and wistful.

"Maxy, old chap," he said softly.

"Yes."

"I am such a beast!"

"Nonsense!"

"I am. Don't take any notice of what I say. I feel as if I must be disagreeable, and say all sorts of things I don't mean, and all the time I know what a good un you are, sitting in this nasty, stuffy old room, that smells of physic enough to knock you down."

"I like sitting with you."

"You can't, when you might be out with Tavvy and Scood. I'd give anything to go, and you must want to go, but you're such a good-hearted old chap, to sit there and read for hours, and talk to a poor miserable beggar who's never going to be well again."

"Why, you are getting on fast."

"No, I'm not. I'm sick of these jellies, and beef-teas, and slip-slops. I want some beef, and salmon, and grouse pie, and to get strong again. I say, Maxy, wasn't I a fool?"

Max was silent.

"You're too good a chap to say it, but you know it was just out of bounce, and to show off, and it served me right. I say, you're not put out at what I've been saying?"

"Not a bit."

"Call me a beast, and then I'll be satisfied."

"But I shouldn't be," said Max, laughing.

"Yes, do call me a beast, and forgive me. I don't mean it, for I do like you, Maxy, honour bright!"

"I want you to like me," said the lad gravely.

"Well, I do. I'm as sorry as can be that I tried to frighten you, and laughed at you. I've been sorry lots of times since I've been lying here; and you will not take any notice of what I said?"

"Is it likely?" cried Max eagerly.

"Not with you, I suppose," said Kenneth thoughtfully; "but I'm afraid I should think a lot about it."

"I shall not," said Max, "so say no more."

"Then let's talk about something else; it keeps me from thinking how miserable and weak I am. I say, old Scood always pretended to be so very fond of me; don't you think he might have come up and seen me?"

"You know he has always been trying."

"Oh, ah! so I do. I forgot."

"He climbed up to the window and got in one night."

"Scoody did? You never told me that."

"I never told anybody."

"And he got down again all safe? Why, it was more risky than climbing up a rock. You tell him he must not do it again."

"I have told him."

"I'll ask my father to let him come up and see me, poor chap. He likes me, you see, Max. I say, I am so dull and miserable, you might do one thing for me."

"Yes: what shall I do?"

"Go and fetch the dogs. I want to see them."

Max nodded, and had reached the door, when Kenneth called him back.

"What is it?" said Max, staring, as he saw Kenneth's thin white hands stretched out towards him, and a peculiar look on his face, which looked the more strange from its having a long strapping of plaster across his brow.

Kenneth made no reply, only held out his hand.

Max grasped his meaning, and caught the hand in his, to hold it tightly, the two lads gazing in each other's eyes as a strong friendship was cemented between them, one far more binding than Kenneth could have imagined in his wildest dreams.

"There; I'm going to fetch the dogs," said Max hastily, and he ran out of the room, and down and out into the castle yard, where, to his horror, the first person he saw was old Donald, looking more wild and strange than ever.

Max backed into the archway leading to the house, hoping he had not been seen, but the old man uttered what was meant for a cry of delight, and, smiling at him, began to beckon with his hand and arm.

"What shall I do?" muttered Max, as the old man came up and tried to catch hold of his arm.

"Hey, bonnie laddie!" he cried, in a confidential whisper. "She's been watching for ye. She's chust made ta peautiful new dirge, and she shall play it to you up in ta toor."

"No, no," cried Max desperately. "The young Mackhai has sent me on a message."

"Ou ay! Put she'll not pe long. It was a peautiful music, and ye—Ta Southron laddie's gane!"

It was quite true, for Max had darted back and run to the dining-room, to get round by the terrace, and so by the rocks to the other side of the ruins, in search of the dogs.

There he came suddenly upon Scoodrach, lying on his chest in the sun, and with his chin in his hands, gazing up at the window of Kenneth's room.

"Here! hi, Scoodrach!" cried Max; and the lad looked at him scowling. "Kenneth has sent me to fetch—"

Scoodrach sprang up, with his whole manner changed.

"She's sent her to fetch me?" he cried eagerly.

"No, no; to fetch—the dogs."

A savage look of anger flashed into the lad's face, and he stood with his hands working.

"Na, na," he cried hoarsely; "it's a lee! Ta young Chief sent her to fetch his gillie, and she's trying to keep her awa'!"

"I told you the truth," cried Max, almost as angrily. "Here, Sneeshing, Sneeshing!" he cried, as he caught sight of the dog a hundred yards away; and the quaint-looking little terrier pricked up his ears, looked round, caught sight of the two boys, and came helter-skelter towards them.

The effect of this dash was for a sharp bark to be heard, and Dirk came into view, with his plume-like tail waving; while, before he was half-way toward Max, Bruce came, making greyhound-like bounds and evidently in a great state of excitement.

"Good dogs! good dogs, then!" cried Max, patting them; but they received his caresses in rather a cool manner, and Bruce, who seemed disappointed, was about to turn off and go, when Max bent over Sneeshing.

The dog looked up at him curiously.

"Come along," said Max; "your master wants to see you."

The words had hardly left his lips, when Dirk made a bound, and rushed off toward the open dining-room, window, behaviour which evidently puzzled the great deerhound, who watched the collie for a few moments, and then dashed off, followed by Sneeshing, who, however, responded to a call, and, after looking inquiringly in the speaker's eyes, he followed him toward the house.

Max stopped short at the end of a few yards and turned, to see Scoodrach walking slowly away.

"Scoody!" he called to him; "you are to come up and see him soon."

"Tak' ta togs! tak' ta togs!" said the young gillie bitterly. "She can't want to see me."

The collie and deerhound had both disappeared through the dining-room window; but it was as Max suspected: when he and the terrier reached the landing, Bruce was seated on the mat at Kenneth's chamber, and Dirk lying down blinking at him, and every now and then snuffling and thrusting his nose close to the bottom of the door.

As Max raised his hand to turn the handle, Dirk could contain himself no longer, and uttered a loud bark, the answer to which was a faintly-heard call from within the bedroom.

But, faint or no, it was enough to drive the dogs half wild; and, as Max opened the door, they gave vent to a canine trio, and dashed through quite a narrow crack, Bruce and Dirk together, for the great hound bounded over the collie, while in his excitement Sneeshing went head-over-heels into the room, but only to dash up to the bed, on to the chair at the side, and then to snuggle in close down to his master, while the others leaped on from opposite sides, and began pawing at the invalid and licking his hand.

"Down! down, dogs!" cried Max excitedly, in alarm lest they should injure the patient in his weak state. But, as he ran at the bed, Dirk and Bruce set up their bristles and uttered menacing growls, while Sneeshing thrust his rough head from under the clothes and added his remonstrance in the same canine way.

"Let 'em alone, Maxy; they're only glad to see their old master again," cried Kenneth, as he began to stroke the dogs' heads. "Quiet, old boys! Friends, friends! Come and pat 'em, Maxy; they mustn't bark at you. Friends, Dirk! Friends, Bruce lad!"

"How!"

"Hooorr!"

The utterances of the two dogs, as they accepted their master's orders, and began patting the white counterpane with their tails, while Sneeshing uttered a series of short barks, shook his head, and shuffled backwards, evidently laughing dogly with delight, and ending by getting his muzzle on Kenneth's breast and lying quite still.

"Oh, I say, this is a treat!" said Kenneth, with a sigh of satisfaction, as his hands were busy pulling the dogs' ears, and drawing the skin sideways, so as to show the whites of their eyes.

"Don't let them stay long."

"Why not? Does me more good than old Curzon's dollops. I'll get up to-morrow, and have the boat for a sail."

Dirk set up his ears at this, and began to bark as if he understood, and, rising on all-fours, he pawed at Kenneth, as he would have done at a sick sheep on the mountain-side, to make it rise.

The result of this action was to make Sneeshing resent the caressing of the intrusive paw, which twice over scraped him, and he snapped at, seized it, and held on.

Dirk howled out, "Don't! you hurt!" in dog.

Bruce gave vent to an angry bark at Sneeshing, who, however, held the tighter, uttering a low worrying snarl.

"Let me send them away now, Kenneth!" cried Max.

"What? Why, it's glorious! Hold tight, Sneeshing!"

A tremendous barking began now, for Dirk was losing his temper, and in another minute he would have dragged Sneeshing out of his snug place, for he had seized him by the loose skin at the back of his neck, when Kenneth shouted at them, and the disturbance ceased.

"I say, Max," he cried, "did you ever see Sneeshing dance the fling? No, I never showed you. Here, give me those joints of my fly-rod," and he pointed to them in a corner of the room.

Max fetched them; and as Kenneth took them and let them fall over his shoulder, Sneeshing shuffled out of the bedclothes and began to bark.

"Draw out that pillow," said Kenneth.

Max obeyed wonderingly; and rather feebly, but laughing the while, Kenneth tucked the pillow half under his left arm.

"What are you going to do?" cried Max.

"Wait a moment, and you'll see. Get back, you two—get back!"

Dirk and Bruce backed to the bottom of the bed, and sat up watching eagerly, while Sneeshing threw up his head and howled.

"Quiet, stupid!" cried Kenneth; "it isn't Tonal'."

"How wow!" howled Sneeshing.

"Be quiet, sir! Yes, I will."

He threatened the dog with one of the joints of the rod, and then threw it back over his left shoulder, as he lay with his head raised, and began to squeeze the pillow in imitation of a bag with its pipes.

"Now, Sneeshing, go ahead! Give us the Hieland Fling!"

Then, in imitation of the pipes, Kenneth began, and not badly,—

"Waugh! waugh!" and went on with the air "Tullochgorum," but Sneeshing only threw up his head and howled.

"Do you want me to whack you?" cried Kenneth. "Now, then, up you go, and we'll begin again."

"Waugh! waugh!"

Sneeshing had flinched from the rod, and now he gave his master a piteous look, but rose up on his hind legs and began to lift first one and then the other, drooping his forepaws and then raising them as he turned solemnly round to the imitation music. Twice over he came down on all-fours, for the bed was very soft and awkward on account of Kenneth's legs and its irregularities, but he rose up again, and the mock pipes were in full burst, and the dogs who formed the audience evidently in a great state of excitement, as they blinked and panted, when there was a tremendous roar of laughter, which brought all to a conclusion, the dogs barking furiously as Mr Curzon came forward with The Mackhai.

"Bravo! bravo!" he exclaimed. "There, I don't think you will want any more of my physic now."

Kenneth lay back, looking sadly shamefaced; and his father half-pleased, half-annoyed, as he opened the door and dismissed the dogs, but not unkindly.

"I'm glad to see you so much better, Ken."

"Thank you, father. I was only showing Max—"

"How much better you are!" interposed the doctor. "Well, I'm very glad; only I'd lie still now. Don't overdo it. There, Mr Mackhai, I have done. Thank you for your hospitality. I can go to-morrow."

"No; you'll stop and have a few days' fishing."

"Not one more, thank you; but if I am up here next year, and you would let me have a day or two on your water, I should be glad."

"As many days as you like, sir, for the rest of your life," said The Mackhai warmly, "for you saved that of my boy."

Ten minutes after, when they went down-stairs, Kenneth said,—

"I say, Max, what a humbug I must have looked! But I am ever so much better. I hope old Curzon will come and fish next year."

While down-stairs his father was angrily walking up and down his study.

"As many days as he likes for the rest of his life!" he exclaimed fiercely. "Idiot—ass that I have been, and that I am, to offer that which at any hour may belong to some one else."

"Well," he added, after a pause, "folly receives its punishments, and the greatest of all follies is to game."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE STAG MAX DID NOT SHOOT.

"I say, Max!" said Kenneth one day, as they sat at either end of a boat, whipping away at the surface of the rippling water of one of the inland lochs, up to which the said boat had been dragged years before, upon rough runners like a sleigh, partly by the ponies, partly by hand labour. Scoodrach was seated amidships, rowing slowly, and every now and then tucking his oar under his leg, to give his nose a rub, and grumble something about "ta flee."

This was on the occasion when the fly Max was throwing came dangerously near hooking into the gristle of the young gillie's most prominent feature.

Kenneth did not finish his sentence, for just then he hooked a trout which gave him a fair amount of play before it was brought alongside, where Scoodrach, who had ceased rowing, was ready with the landing-net.

"Let me land it," cried Max; and, taking the net, he held it as he had seen Scoodrach perform the same operation a score of times.

"All right!" cried Kenneth. "He's a beauty; pound and a half, I know. Now then—right under."

Kenneth's elastic rod was bent nearly double, as Max leaned forward, and, instead of lowering the net well into the water so that the fish might glide into it, he made an excited poke, and struck the fish with the ring; there was a faint whish as the rod suddenly straightened; a splash as the trout flapped the water with its tail and went off free, and Max and Kenneth stared at each other.

"She couldna hae done tat," muttered Scoodrach.

"Yes, you could, stupid!" said Kenneth, glad of some one upon whom he could vent his spleen. "You've knocked ever so many fish off that way."

"I'm very, very sorry," said Max humbly.

"That won't bring back the trout," grumbled Kenneth. "Never mind, old chap, I'll soon have another. Why don't you go on throwing?"

"Because I am stupid over it. I shall never throw a fly properly."

"Not if you give up without trying hard. Go on and have another good turn. Whip away. It'll come easier soon."

Max went on whipping away, but his success was very small, for he grew more and more nervous as he saw that Scoodrach flinched every time he made a cast, as if the hook had come dangerously near his eyes.

Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by Kenneth.

All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach's exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.

Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again. Then another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against the butt of Kenneth's rod.

"Mind what you're doing!" shouted Kenneth.

"Hwhat tid ye do that for?" cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his sconce.

"Do it for? Why don't you sit still, and not get throwing your head about all over the boat?"

"She tid it o' purpose," growled Scoodrach; "and she's cooard to hit a man pehind her pack."

"If you call me a coward, Scoody, I'll pitch you overboard."

"No, she wouldna. She has not get pack her strength."

"Then Max will help me, and we'll see then."

"Pitch her overboard, then, and she'll swim ashore, and she'll hae to row ta poat her ainsel'."

But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard; and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the idea he had been about to start some time before.

"I say, Max," he said, "I wonder what's the matter with father. I wish old Curzon was here. I think the pater is going to be ill."

"I hope not."

"So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little."

"I thought he seemed to be very quiet."

"Quiet! I should think he is. Why, he used to be always going out shooting or fishing, and taking me. Now, he's continually going to Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I don't know. He said it was uncertain. Perhaps he'll be there when we get home."

But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was away.

The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able to be out on the mountains, recovered strength at a wonderful rate.

Those were delightful days to Max. His old nervousness was rapidly leaving him, and he was never happier than when out with the two lads fishing, shooting, boating, or watching Kenneth as he stood spear-armed in the bows, trying to transfix some shadowy skate as it glided as if flying over the sandy bottom of the sea-loch.

One grandly exciting day to Max was on the occasion of a deer-stalking expedition, which resulted, through the clever generalship of Tavish, in both lads getting a good shot at a stag.

Max was first, and, after a long, wearisome climb, he lay among some rocks for quite a couple of hours, with Tavish, watching a herd of deer, before the time came when, under the forester's guidance, the deadly rifle, which Max had found terribly heavy, was rested upon a stone, and Tavish whispered to him,—

"Keep ta piece steady on ta stane, laddie, and when ta stag comes well oot into ta glen, ye'll chust tak' a glint along ta bar'l and aim richt at ta showlder, and doon she goes."

Max's hands trembled, his heart beat fast, and the perspiration stood on his brow, as he waited till, from out of a narrow pass which they had been watching, a noble-looking stag trotted slowly into the glen, and, broadside on, turned its head in their direction.

Max saw the great eyes, the branching antlers, and, in his excitement, the forest monarch seemed to be of huge proportions.

"Noo!" was whispered close to his ear; and, "glinting" along the barrel, after fixing the sight right upon the animal's flank, Max drew the trigger, felt as if some one had struck him a violent blow in the shoulder, and then lay there on his chest, gazing at a cloud of smoke and listening to the rolling echoes as they died away.

"Aweel, aweel!" said a voice close by him, in saddened tones. "Ye're verra young, laddie. Ye'll hae to try again."

"Isn't it dead?" said Max.

"Na, she's no' deid, laddie."

"But I don't see it. Where is the stag?"

"Ahint the mountain yonder, laddie; going like the wind."

"Oh!" said Max; and for the next few minutes he did not know which way he felt—sorry he had missed, or glad that the noble beast had got away.

Kenneth was more successful. He brought down his quarry a couple of hours later, and the rough pony carried home the carcase for Long Shon to break up, Max partaking of a joint of the venison a few days later, and thinking it was very good, and that he enjoyed it all the more for not having shot the animal himself,—though he could not help telling Kenneth that the fat seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

KENNETH RESISTS THE LAW.

Three more days glided by, spent in hunting and fishing. Max succeeded in spearing one skate himself, and was nearly pulled out of the boat by the curious fish as it made its final struggle for life. And then a momentous day came, when, after spending the morning in having a glorious sail, during which, as there was a splendid breeze, Max had felt quite comfortable, as he sat well to windward, holding on by the gunwale and helping to act as ballast to keep the boat from going over under the great press of sail Kenneth insisted upon carrying, they ran softly in under shelter of the rocks, and were approaching the castle landing-place, when Tavish came rushing up breathlessly.

"Come oot!" he roared. "Come oot, laddies!"

"What's the matter, Tavvy? Has my father—"

"Nay, laddie; he's no' come back. Come oot! come oot!"

The boat was run in, Scoodrach left to moor her, and Kenneth leaped ashore.

"What's wrong?" he cried, as he was saluted by a burst of baying from the dogs, which had been waiting their master's return.

"Wrang, my laddie? She had to gang doon to Kinlochai, and there she found ta bailies."

"What, at the farm?"

"At ta fairm, laddie, noo. An ugly, pock-faaced chief wi' hauf a dizzen loons asked me ta way to Dunroe. He's a bailie coming to tak' ta place."

"What? Nonsense, Tavvy!"

"Hey, but it's nae nonsense, laddie, for she met Dooncan Graeme, and Dooncan knew her at Glasgie. She's ta bailie, and she's coming to tak' ta Dunroe."

"Then she isn't going to have it!" cried Kenneth, flushing. "Bailiffs, indeed! It's all some stupid mistake."

"She rin on to tall ye, but ye were awa'," panted Tavish, whose face was streaming.

"They're just here, then?" said Kenneth excitedly.

"Na; she was askit ta way to Dunroe, and she sent them richt doon through ta mountains, laddie; and they'll nivver get here till some ane sets them richt."

"Bravo, Tavish! But it must be all some mistake."

"Nay, laddie, it's no meestake. Ta Chief canna pay some siller, and ta bailie's coming to tak' Dunroe."

"Is he?" cried Kenneth fiercely. "We'll see about that. Call Long Shon."

"She's in ta castle, laddie, getting ta auld gates to. She was going to shut ta gates and keep ta bailie oot."

"Bravo, Tavvy! Does Grant know?"

"Oh ay, and ivery ane's helping."

"That's the beauty of having a castle to live in, Maxy. No one can get in when the tide's up except through the old gateway; and it isn't everybody who can manage it when the tide's down. I say, you won't help, will you?"

"Help! of course!" cried Max excitedly. "But what are you going to do?"

"Do! shut up the old gates. They can't scale the rock, and they've got no boats, so we'll let them besiege us. Bah! when they find the place locked, they'll go back. Come on."

Kenneth hurried them through the house from the rock terrace, leaving the boat swinging to the buoy, and, followed by Tavish, Scoodrach, and the dogs, the two lads made for the old castle yard, whose outer entrance was the only way in unless scaling ladders were brought.

Here Grant and Long Shon, with old Tonal' to help, were busily fixing props against the old gates which had been dragged to.

"Hurray! Bravo, Grant! Well done, Shon! That's it, Tonal'! That's fast. No one can get in here."

Max entered into the spirit of the thing with the most intense enjoyment, following Kenneth through the mouldering old gate tower, and up a crumbling staircase to the broken battlements, of which there was still enough round to allow of any one walking to and fro behind the broken crenelation, between whose teeth they could look down on any one coming up the rocky path from the edge of the bay.

The old castle had never before looked so romantic to Max, and he thoroughly realised now how great must have been its strength in ancient days, towering up as it did on the huge promontory of rock, whose sides were steep enough to save it from attack when enemies approached it from the land, the one path being narrow, while from the other side only a foe provided with war galleys could have landed on the terrace, and then beneath the defenders' fire.

"We're going to have the siege of Dunroe!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Now, Grant, and you, Long Shon, help and get up the arms, and we'll defend the place till my father comes."

"But ye mauna shute," said Long Shon.

"Who's going to, Shon? We'll fire something else;" and he gave orders which the old butler, the men, and even the maids hastened to execute, till the battlements and the broad tower over the gateway, which was furnished with the openings called machicolations, used for dropping missiles on an approaching enemy, were fairly well furnished with ammunition.

"How about provisions?" cried Kenneth, as an idea suddenly struck him.

"Ou, there's plenty, Master Kenneth," said the butler grimly, as he rather enjoyed what was going on. "There's half the deer you shot, beside the mutton, and plenty of kippered saumon."

"Oh ay; and if they try to starve us," cried Tavish, "we can catch fush from the rock at high water ivery day."

The preparations went merrily on, every one working in the old Highland spirit, and seeming indued with the idea that it was a duty to defend the home of the Chief of the Clan Mackhai against the enemy that was expected—an enemy that must be baffled at all hazards.

Old Tonal' was the most excited of all, rushing here and there, and getting in everybody's way. One minute he was hurrying off to fetch his pipes, and seemed ready to blow. Then he was off again to put them away, to come forth again and go round the castle as far as was possible on the battlements, to see whether there was a weak spot where the foe might get in.