“But I never think of my man,” the woman went on, “but as I saw him first before he met with his lameness. Eyes are a kind of doubtful blessing too in some ways. Mine have forgotten all the ugly things they knew, and in my recollection are but many bonny things: my man was always as young to me as when he came courting in a new blue bonnet and a short coat; my children will be changing to every one but to me.” Stewart, with his own appetite satisfied, was acting lackey to the gentlemen in the byre--fetching out cogies of milk and whangs of bear-meal bannock, and the most crisp piquant white cheese ever I put tooth to. He was a man without a conscience, and so long as his own ends and the ends of his friends were served, he would never scruple to empty the woman’s girnel or toom her last basin, and leave her no morsel of food or drink at the long-run. But M’Iver and I put an end to that, and so won, as we thought, to the confidence of the elder lad in the bed, who had glunched low-browed among his franker brethren. We slept for some hours, the seven of us, among the bracken of the byre, wearied out and unable to go farther that night, even if the very dogs were at our heels. We slept sound, I’m sure, all but M’Iver, whom, waking twice in the chill of the night, I found sitting up and listening like any sentinel. “What are you watching for there?” I asked him on the second time. “Nothing at all, Colin, nothing at all. I was aye a poor sleeper at the best, and that snore of Rob Stewart is the very trump of the next world.” It was in the dawn again he confessed to his real apprehension,--only to my private ear, for he wished no more to alarm the others by day than to mar my courtship of slumber by night. “The fact is,” said he, “I’m not very sure about our young gentleman yonder in the bed. He’s far too sharp in the eye and black in the temper, and too much of Clan Donallachd generally, to be trusted with the lives and liberties of seven gentlemen of a tartan he must know unfriendly to Glencoe. I wish I saw his legs that I might guess the length of him, or had had the wit to ask his mother, his age, for either would be a clue to his chance of carrying the tale against us down the valley there. He seemed tremendous sharp and wicked lying yonder looking at us, and I was in a sweat all night for fear he would be out and tell on us. But so far he’s under the same roof as ourselves.”