"Rob Fraser, he knows...," but the officer broke in, "Never mind what he knows," he said testily, "bind him and set him against the wall." Long after when Rob was come to himself and his eyes more accustomed to the light from the great fire he watched the officer at his supper. He was a small red-haired man with cold blue eyes and white eyebrows, for all the world like a badger, and with Campbell written all over him. It was an evil day when a Campbell could strut over the country-side at his ease. Having finished his food and offering none to Rob, who nearly begged him for a mouthful so famished was he, the officer lit his pipe and called in his men, telling them they could sleep along the walls of the place. Greatly affable through meat and drink he also fell into conversation, and being like most little men very anxious to show what a terrible fellow he was, with the spirit of a giant, he related the tale of the banshee of Loch Fyne, and told it so capably that the soldiers drew a little together and sent the bottle round in some uneasiness. "It came from a lonely island," he said, "and none saw it pass over the grey face of the loch--but there was a mournful cry that seemed to be far up in the clouds and a cold wind passing like a wraith along the barren shore. Oh it was the rare one the banshee of Loch Fyne, and some said it lived in the lonely island where the dead lay, for it always passed that way, and it never travelled alone." "I don't like these Highland tales," said one Englishman with a shiver, "least of all hereabouts. There was a ghost I've heard tell in Holmbury Hall..." "Whisht to your ghosts," broke in a large Lowland Scot, whose eyes were great with the story of the banshee. "Captain here has seen the banshee, have ye no, sir?" Now the officer had never before claimed that privilege. It is improbable that he had ever been to the shores of Loch Fyne, being a Glen Etive man, and it is also open to question whether the dreaded banshee was not a traveller's tale. However that may be he was not prepared to disappoint his hearers at so propitious a time. "Once--once," he replied, being a man as truthful as a lie would permit, "only once and that at midnight--a clear moon in the sky and no wind to speak of. I was a youngster at the time, barely twenty, and as reckless as could be. It was always said that the banshee rose from the ancient burial-place at twelve o'clock, and floating across the loch set out on her evil errand. There are those who heard poor Angus Campbell wailing all through a winter's night and his voice up in the clouds, 'Tha e lamhan fuar: Tha e lamhan fuar! It has a cold, cold hand!'" "My goodness," gasped the Lowlander, dragging himself nearer to the fire. On every face about the dying blaze superstitious fear was written. Even Rob, weak with want of food and full of misery, heard his teeth chatter at the picture the little man drew--for he was an artist in gruesome effects.