“I mean efter it’s dark an’ afore ye gang to yer bed.--He likes the battles o’ the angels best. As sune ’s it comes to ony fechtin’, up he gets, an’ gangs stridin’ aboot the flure; an’ whiles he maks a claucht at ’s claymore; an’ faith! ance he maist cawed aff my heid wi’ ’t, for he had made a mistak aboot whaur I was sittin’.” “What’s a _claymore_?” “A muckle heelan’ braidswoord, my leddy. _Clay_ frae _gladius_, verra likly; an’ _more_ ’s the Gaelic for _great_: _claymore_, great sword. Blin’ as my gran’father is, ye wad sweer he had fochten in ’s day, gien ye hard hoo he’ll gar ’t whurr an’ whustle aboot ’s heid as gien ’t war a bit lath o’ wud.” “But that’s very dangerous,” said Florimel, something aghast at the recital. “Ow, ay!” assented Malcolm, indifferently,--“Gien ye wad luik in, my leddy, I wad lat ye see his claymore, an’ his dirk, an’ his skene dhu, an’ a’.” “I don’t think I could venture. He’s too dreadful! I should be terrified at him.” “Dreidfu’! my leddy? He’s the quaietest, kin’liest auld man! that is, providit ye say naething _for_ a Cawmill, or _agen_ ony ither hielanman. Ye see he comes o’ Glenco, an’ the Cawmills are jist a hate till him--specially Cawmill o’ Glenlyon, wha was the warst o’ them a’. Ye sud hear him tell the story till ’s pipes, my leddy! It’s gran’ to hear him! An’ the poetry a’ his ain!” CHAPTER XVI. THE STORM. There came a blinding flash, and a roar through the leaden air, followed by heavy drops mixed with huge hailstones. At the flash, Florimel gave a cry and half rose to her feet, but at the thunder, fell as if stunned by the noise, on the sand. As if with a bound, Malcolm was by her side, but when she perceived his terror, she smiled, and laying hold of his hand, sprung to her feet. “Come, come,” she cried; and still holding his hand, hurried up the dune, and down the other side of it. Malcolm accompanied her step for step, strongly tempted, however, to snatch her up, and run for the bored craig: he could not think why she made for the road-- high on an unscalable embankment, with the park-wall on the other side. But she ran straight for a door in the embankment itself, dark between two buttresses, which, never having seen it open, he had not thought of. For a moment she stood panting before it, while with trembling hand she put a key in the lock; the next she pushed open the creaking door and entered. As she turned to take out the key, she saw Malcolm yards away in the middle of the road and in a cataract of rain, which seemed to have with difficulty suspended itself only until the lady should be under cover. He stood with his bonnet in his hand, watching for a farewell glance. “Why don’t you come in?” she said impatiently. He was beside her in a moment. “I didna ken ye wad lat me in,” he said. “I wouldn’t have you drowned,” she returned, shutting the door.