Round him in a half-circle the companions of that wild flight were gathered--their faces looking very dim and white like the faces of ghosts. For an instant the old man seemed to shrink into himself. His great head drooped,--the hand that gripped the bridle fell with a low thud against his side. But only for an instant. There was within that disease-racked body an energy that defied the penalties of age. "Dhia gleidh sinn," he cried harshly, "are you tongueless all of you? Come--come in--would you sit glooming there all night? Your Highness," he said, breaking off and looking up again, "this is a wae meeting and like to be our last...." "You are Lord Lovat," said the Prince with more life in his voice. "It is a name," the old man replied, with a sudden twisted grin, "that I would I could disown." A few gillies had gathered about the horsemen, and when they had dismounted their tired beasts were led away to an outhouse, and the whole party followed Lord Lovat within. Inside the room where they made their way a great fire was burning. A table stood in the centre, upon which was a bottle of claret and some glasses. He had waited news for hours back. In the firelight Lord Lovat regarded his visitors with sour displeasure. Now that the news of Culloden had come, and the first biting terror over, he resumed his habitual demeanour of inscrutable cynicism. He congratulated the Prince on arriving so soon, and poured out his glass of wine--he asked the names of the various gentlemen with him and expressed polite ignorance when he was informed, only remarking that he had always admired Irishmen because they took so much interest in other people's affairs. And all the time he was cursing his utter folly for having supported the Jacobite cause and plotting, plotting, plotting in his inmost mind what was the safest course to take. Only once did his self-possession desert him, and that was when the Prince said to Sir Thomas Sheridan that they must make for the Isles. "Make for the Isles," he cried, glaring at them like an aged wolf-hound, "what sort of talk is that? Will you desert us all and not make a stand in the hills? What is one defeat? You must make terms, sir, or you'll have more to answer for than ever your father had." "It is no good," replied the Prince dejectedly. "Oh, why," cried Lovat, trembling with fury and vexation, "did ye come and ruin us at all?" At that they tried to soothe him, telling him that he had taken no part--that he was an old man--that he could hide for a season. To all of which Lovat shook his great head. He never deceived himself. "More than that," went on the Irishman, Sheridan, pacing up and down before the open window, "all is not lost. The clans will assemble again, and French gold is even now on its way. Gold," he added, "will unite us again as quick as honour." He smiled, little guessing how far he erred in that while Lovat listened absently.