Miss Macpherson was very tall and exceedingly gaunt. Her countenance was as bleak as a wind-swept hillside, and there was a stony glare in her grey eyes which seemed to turn the very atmosphere to frost. Her figure was all points and angles--jutting out where her shoulders rose towards her neck, and seeming to extend indefinitely into her arms. Rob knew those long, sinewy arms with their thin, gnarled hands ever ready to swoop. Miss Macpherson's customary attitude was like that of a great bird of prey, mightily beaked and clawed, pouncing swiftly, and rising again to sit and watch upon a crag. She was sitting before the fire as he entered, and when she saw the sword in his hand there came over her grim countenance a quick change--a swift tightening, as though she had received a shock but would not own to it. "Aunt Margaret," said Rob, with a rush to get it over, "I'm marching with Prince Charlie's men to-morrow." She made as though to rise, then sat where she was, only her hands trembled as she held them to the fire. "So schooling's over," she said, quietly, "and now we're off to the wars, are we? A fine spectacle that will be for your father's son. It's the gallows now, is it, along with a rag-tag and a bonny Prince? Ye'll want a polish to this sword, I'm thinking, and some bannocks for your travels. Oh, I'll cook ye bannocks, my mannie--fine, hot bannocks." She watched him narrowly, all the time, wishing to frighten him, and finding that he remained unshaken she shrugged her shoulders and set about laying the table, her long, thin arms clutching the dishes. Rob noted with dejected eyes, that she was setting the things for one. "How old are ye?" she asked at last, her back still turned. "Sixteen past," he answered, slowly. "Aye," said she, "I suppose ye are." She stared at him then with a queer look in her face--as though she would have beaten him had she been able. Then, placing another platter upon the table, she jerked her head at him to sit beside her. "Rob," she said, after a long silence, "to me you have always been undergrown for your years. It seems but yesterday since ye came." "It was eight years ago," he answered, still upon his guard. "So long?" said she, and took up her knife, but eating nothing. The meal proceeded in utter silence. Rob would have given a world to be away. What was in his aunt's mind he did not know, he could not guess. Her face expressed nothing, only her eyes stared at him unblinkingly, like the unfathomable eyes of an eagle. "Rob," said she, at last, "when do you get your marching orders?" "To-morrow, Aunt Margaret," he replied. "You must not be grieved at my going; I cannot bide here when my people are out. Of course, we may not leave Inverness for a while." "Yon old fox, Lovat, is safe at home," she retorted. "When the chief bides it is not good for the clansmen to stir."