At dawn on the same morning that saw the Prince speeding westward and Muckle John upon the road, before the moon had sunk behind the hills, Rob Fraser stole out of the hall and made his way into the open air. Already rumours were drifting through the village that the English were on the march towards Gortuleg, and all who were suspected of having taken arms for the Prince would be summarily dealt with, and their houses given to the flames. Round the premises of Gortuleg dwelt the same melancholy silence as on the night before. Every living thing seemed to have fled. The very kennels were empty. Only one shaggy Highland pony whinnied in the desolate stable, hungry and alone. A grey mist was driving down the glen, and a thin drizzle of rain had set in with the coming day. As Rob peered up at the windows wondering what had befallen, he caught for an instant a pair of eyes fixed upon him, and heard a noise of shuffling feet. Coming from that deserted place it sounded so dreary that he was near taking to his heels. Before he could move, however, the huge bulk of Lord Lovat loomed into the shadowy doorway. Leaning heavily upon his stick with hunched shoulders, and a face unshaved and the grey colour of chalk, he stood with muttering lips. Then shuffling forward a step he stared blankly at Rob like a man whose thoughts are far away on another errand. "What o'clock is it?" he rasped at last; and pulling off his wig, patted it idly, and rammed it again upon his head. "Six o'clock, your lordship," said Rob, in a great awe of him. "Six o'clock!" He frowned suddenly, looking all around him with pursed lips. "Where are my servants?" he cried. And when no answer came he quoted a scrap of Latin, and chuckled as though the context tickled him. "Well, well," said he at last, "and who are you, boy?" "Rob Fraser, sir." "Thank ye," he snarled, speaking in broad Scots; "but it's a name as common as muir-fowl hereabouts. Why are ye no with the Master, that unscrupulous rebel, my son? Mind how I spoke of him, Rob, should they ever dare to take me." "I heard ye, my lord." "Aye, and speak up for an old man, Rob, whose havers may be misinterpreted, ye ken. What is it ye will answer, Rob?" "That you called your son, the Master, an unscrupulous rebel," he replied. Lovat nodded his great head approvingly. "Bonny it sounds. That'll make the House o' Peers sit up. We'll carry it with silver hairs and injured innocence, Rob--an auld man, my lords, near doited with years and sorrow." He paused, and the look of fear twisted his features once again. "It would look better to bide here," said he, in a mutter to himself, and so, with a pinch of snuff, he turned towards the door again. But a moment later he was back, and this time his limbs fairly shook with fear.