The tall, thin man was the innkeeper--evidently a timorous fellow; the hunchback was his 'man'--malevolent probably, the doer of the other's dark behests; whilst the woman was presumably his wife, the cook and housekeeper of the ale-house. Well, while they slept he would investigate and complete his plans for the early morn at the time when all three would reappear and drive forth their flocks again. There was a small haystack at the west end of the inn, which Donald marked out as his resting-place for the night. Thither he made his cautious way--the _piobaireachd_ sounding ever more clearly in his ears. When he reached the haystack the melody seemed to be intensified; then suddenly he heard it no more. Ha! a flash of inspiration shook him. This must be the very spot where Alastair was done to death--perhaps even buried here. He looked about him and noted that the wind was freshening and the mist was scurrying in dense clouds above as if it might lift, and then the moon might light him to further discovery. Thus reflecting he sat down behind the stack, and waited patiently for the moon to rise and shine above the mist. An hour passed, then a faint glimmer showed in the east above Shillmoor's edge. He stood up and peeped round the stack; he could distinguish the rounded moon--nearly at the full--beating with white wings like an owl through the tangled mist. In another quarter of an hour he could see sufficiently well to commence investigation. He noted as he searched the ground about him that quite recently the earth had been disturbed just beyond the verge of the haystack. A space had evidently been roughly dug over--a space that seemed the size of a grave. Hereupon he sought for some instrument wherewith to make further investigation, and by good luck soon hit upon an old, broken-shafted spade that lay in a small potato croft adjoining. With this he set to work to howk the turf away, and found it light to work, for it had been loosely shovelled in, and came away with ease. Working incessantly, at four feet below the excavated turf, he saw an object lying loose, which he seized in excited, trembling hands, and surveyed in the moonlight. Ay, it was Alastair's bonnet, for there was the blackcock's tail feathers which Alastair had always proudly worn in right of his birth. Stained with blood--the bonnet itself cloven in twain with a blow from hatchet or axe. 'My bonny Alastair!' he groaned aloud. 'Dear laddie! But, by Gott--ye'll be avenged fine the morn's morning!' Reverently he went on with his howking, and soon Alastair's pale face showed in the moonlight, stained with soil, and bloody under the gash above his forehead. Donald kneeled down in the grave and kissed like a lover his foster-brother on the brow. Then pondering awhile he muttered brokenly, 'I'll hap ye in again, Alastair, beloved; when I've a sign to bury wi' ye that will prove to ye my troth.'