Inverawe started to his feet, drew his dirk, and prepared to defend himself from this unlooked for attempt at assassination. But ere he had well plucked it forth from its sheath, the intruder assumed the attitude of a suppliant. "For mercy's sake pardon my unceremonious entrance, Inverawe!" said the stranger, in a hollow, husky, and exhausted voice. "And be not alarmed, for I come with no hostile intention against you or yours. I am an unfortunate wretch, who, in a sudden quarrel, have shed the blood of a fellow-creature. He was a man of Lorn. I have been hotly pursued by his friends, and though I have thrown those who are after me considerably out, during the long chase they have kept up, yet they are still pressing like blood-hounds on my track. To baffle them, if possible, I threw myself into the river, and swam across it, and I now claim that protection, and that hospitality, which no one ever failed to find within the house of Inverawe." "By Cruachan!" cried Inverawe, sheathing his dirk, and slapping it smartly with the open palm of his hand. "By Cruachan, I swear that you shall have both!" Now, I must tell you, that this was considered as the most solemn pledge that a Campbell of Inverawe could give. Their war-cry was, "Coar-a-Cruachan," that is, "Help from Cruachan." And this expression had a double meaning, inasmuch as the word Cruachan had reference both to the mountain of that name, and to the hip where the dirk hung. To swear by Cruachan, therefore, and to strengthen the oath by slapping the dirk with the open palm, was to utter an oath, which must, under all circumstances, be for ever held inviolable. "But tell me," said Inverawe, "how happened this unlucky affair?" "We were all met to make merry at a wedding," replied the stranger, "when, as I was dancing with---- But hold!--I hear voices! They approach the castle! I am lost if you do not hide me immediately." "This way," said Inverawe, leading him to a certain obscure part of the hall. "Aid me to lift this trap.--Now, down with ye and crouch there.--They come." Inverawe had barely time to drop the trap-door into its place, to resume his seat at the fire, and to affect to be in a deep sleep, when the voices and the sound of human footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Three men entered the hall in reeking haste--claymores in hand. They rushed towards the fire-place, where he was sitting. Inverawe started up as if just awaked by the noise they made, and drew his dirk, as if to defend himself from their meditated attack. "Ha!" cried he, with well-feigned surprise. "Assassins: Then must I sell my life as dearly as I can." "Not assassins!" cried they. "We are not assassins, Inverawe. We crave your pardon for this apparently rude intrusion, but we are in pursuit of an assassin. We come to look for a man who has murdered another. Have we your permission to search for him?" "Certainly," said Inverawe, "wherever you please."