The minister entered the cottage, and passed through among the patriarchs of the sorrowful community, who were sheltering from the chill March wind, under the only remaining roof in the glen. In a moment after he reappeared, bearing the sick lad, a helpless burden, in his strong arms. A cry rose from the women--the men clenched their fingers, and gnashed their teeth. The sharp, pale face raised itself above Mr. Lumsden's arm--the feeble invalid was strong with excitement. "Be quiet, oh! be quiet--dinna do ill for my sake!" "And now," cried Big Duncan, "I bid ye to my house--all of ye that are Macalpines. Leave the birds of prey to their work--come with me!" The people obeyed. They formed themselves into a solemn procession: the tremulous old man, whose years outnumbered a century, leaning upon two stalwart grandsons; the aged woman, Duncan Macalpine's mother, supported on her son's arm; strong men restraining by force which shook their vigorous frames the natural impulse to resistance; mothers, with compressed lips, shutting in the agony of their hearts--the train of weeping, bewildered children! The March wind swept keen and biting over them as they passed by their own desolate houses in stern silence, and assembled again, further up the glen. The work was accomplished. The last cottage in Oranmore was dismantled and roofless. The Macalpines were without a home! CHAPTER XX. Giles Sympelton ran from the glen. The lad was light of foot, and inspired with a worthy errand. Headlong, over burn, and ditch, and hedgerow he plunged on--past the long woods of Strathoran--past the gate where stood some of Lord Gillravidge's household, sheer on to the Tower. The door was open--he darted in--rushed up stairs--and in headlong haste plunged into Mrs. Catherine's inner drawing-room. Mrs. Catherine herself was seated there alone. She looked up in wonder, as, with flushed face and disordered hair, and breathless from his precipitate speed, the lad suddenly presented himself before her. "I want your carriage--I want you to send your carriage with me--for a dying lad--a sick boy who has no shelter. Give me your carriage!" "Young man," said Mrs. Catherine, "what do you mean?" She rose and approached him. "You are the lad that was in temptation at Strathoran. Have you seen the evil of your ways?" "Your carriage--I want your carriage!" gasped poor Giles Sympelton. "Order it first, and I will tell you afterwards." Mrs. Catherine did not hesitate. She rang the bell, and ordered the carriage immediately. "Immediately--immediately!" cried the lad. "The cold may kill him." "Sit down," said Mrs. Catherine, "till it is ready; and tell me what has moved you so greatly." The youth wiped his hot forehead, and recovered his breath. "The cottagers up the glen--their name is Macalpine--Lord Gillravidge has evicted them. There is not a house standing--they are all unroofed. The people have no shelter. And the lad--the dying lad?"