“Not--not at the trade of lovier?” she asked after a while, carelessly keeping up the crack. “Oh no!” I said, laughing. “He’s a most religious man.” “I would hardly say so much,” she answered, coldly; “for there have been tales--some idle, some otherwise--about him, but I think his friend should be last to hint at any scandal.” Good heavens! here was a surprise for one who had no more notion of traducing his friend than of miscalling the Shorter Catechism. The charge stuck in my gizzard. I fumed and sweat, speechless at the injustice of it, while the girl held herself more aloof than ever, busy preparing for our evening meal. But I had no time to put myself right in her estimate of me before M’Iver came back from his airing with an alarming story. “It’s time we were taking our feet from here,” he cried, running up to us. “I’ve been up on Meall Ruadh there, and I see the whole countryside’s in a confusion. Pipers are blowing away down the glen and guns are firing; if it’s not a muster of the enemy preparatory to their quitting the country, it’s a call to a more particular search in the hills and woods. Anyway we must be bundling.” He hurriedly stamped out the fire, that smoked a faint blue reek which might have advertised our whereabouts, and Betty clutched the child to her arms, her face again taking the hue of hunt and fear she wore when we first set eyes on her in the morning. “Where is safety?” she asked, hopelessly. “Is there a sheep-fank or a sheiling-bothy in Argile that is not at the mercy of those blood-hounds?” “If it wasn’t for the snow on the ground,” said M’Iver, “I could find a score of safe enough hidings between here and the Beannan.” “Heavens!” he added, “when I think on it, the Beannan itself is the place for us; it’s the one safe spot we can reach by going through the woods without leaving any trace, if we keep under the trees and in the bed of the burn.” We took the bairn in turns, M’Iver and I, and the four of us set out for the opposite side of Glenaora for the _eas_ or gully called the Beannan, that lay out of any route likely to be followed by the enemy, whether their object was a retreat or a hunting. But we were never to reach this place of refuge, as it happened; for M’Iver, leading down the burn by a yard or two, had put his foot on the path running through the pass beside the three bridges, when he pulled back, blanching more in chagrin than apprehension. “Here they are,” he said “We’re too late; there’s a band of them on the march up this way.”