"Tread lightly, Sandie; there's sorrow and pain at hand," said Donald, in a tone so mournful and different from the wild, half-scoffing manner he had before adopted, that a thrill of apprehension ran through the whole party. "There's sorrow yonder in the house of Glennaclach, and no cheering welcome for the Sassenach strangers." His keen wandering glance had discovered one of the boats now moored to the shore, rowed hastily across the loch a few minutes before, and two figures hurrying up from it to the house. One of these he knew to be the only doctor in the glen. There were other signs of alarm and confusion; servants hastening to and fro, cottagers meeting and pausing as if to ask questions; and with all his wildness, half of which was but assumed to excite an interest which flattered his weak intellect, poor Donald was an acute observer, and sincerely attached to the family of the laird of Glennaclach, so that he readily took alarm. To the travellers, not perceiving the tokens by which he formed his suggestion, it had all the effect of the supernatural. "Go you forward alone, Misther Hardy," said Donald, addressing him for the first time; "and if there's a welcome for you, come back and fetch the ladies, and,"--here he designated Bayntun by a certain contemptuous turn of the chin towards him. "But why should you doubt it, Donald?" asked Hardy. "Go you forward, Misther Hardy, or I maun go myself," repeated Donald impatiently, and holding the pony firmly, as if determined that he at least should not proceed. To humour him, Hardy followed his directions, but as he neared the house, a sound fell upon his ear which alarmed him; a boyish voice uttered a suppressed moan of intense suffering, repeated, yet apparently controlled by an effort. Seeing him pause, one of the group of people who stood with grief and terror in their countenances outside the door came towards him. "Make haste, sir, if you are a doctor and can do him any good. He is not dead, though I never thought to hear the sound of his voice again when the tree gave way with him, and I saw the bonnie lad go down over the crags like a stane." "What has happened?" inquired Hardy. "I am no doctor, but I will gladly give any help I can." Then followed a voluble explanation in Gaelic from the whole group, interspersed with a few words in English, from which Hardy learned that one of the laird's younger brothers, in climbing along the crags by the side of a waterfall, had trusted his weight to a slight tree which gave way with him, precipitating him into the rocky bed of the foaming torrent. The doctor was now examining the injuries he had received. While the women were speaking, a young man appeared at the door and said a few words to them in a kind but determined tone, which had the effect of instantly silencing and dispersing them; and he then perceived Hardy.