"I know he is no true man," he said, sombrely, "but how I know I cannot tell you. And yet he is no Government man--that I am sure. So I give it up!" His tone dropped into silence, and sighing heavily he drew in his breath to cough. "Then I will go," said Cameron abruptly. "Good-bye, John; keep watch for a French ship and send word when it shall come." So shaking hands they parted without another word, never to meet again. The sun was up and the glen lay clear and lifeless when Cameron and Grant began their weary journey northwards. The last they saw of Murray was his stooping form crawling over the brow of the hill opposite, leaning heavily upon his stick, like a wounded crow limping with broken wings. After the futile scheme for the continuation of the war--which as all the world knows resulted in only a few hundred men (no Frasers) assembling--all further resistance was at an end, and Lord Lovat, who throughout had no intention of giving any personal demonstration of disloyalty, returned to his island in Loch Morar. On a spring day late in May when the countryside was bright with the promise of flowers and the birds sang upon every tree, Murray of Broughton visited him, and inside the hut where he lay waiting for news of a French ship, handed him the fateful scrap of tartan--the second warning of Muckle John. Lovat was lying upon the floor with his back against that same strong box that Rob had carried from Gortuleg House, unshaven and dishevelled with privation and distress, and none too glad to see his visitor. At the four sides of the island a Fraser was on guard watching the shore--a dozen more sat around the hut, while on the surrounding hills about Morar there were others spying the glens below, intent on the chance approach of the soldiers. Lovat, who flattered himself he could guess any man's errand, greeted Murray distantly and waved him to a stool. He took a pinch of snuff himself, but seemed in no mind to show a like hospitality to his guest. "I thought you were in France by now," he said at last. "It were best for us all if you could steer clear of the Government." "I do not take your lordship's meaning," answered Murray flushing. "I, at any rate, have had no dealings with the Government." "But that same Government would like fine to have some dealings with you, my man, and supposing they had, supposing they had..." He looked at him keenly, then laid one finger against another in a manner very typical. "It was a wicked business," he said, "and had I not moments of dotage I would never have even seemed to have sympathized with it, Murray. But what could an old man do? I had no power--no influence--I was deserted by the Lord-President, a man I trusted like a brother. It was a cruel attack on the crown, Murray, and well ye ken it. What men can do to rectify the wrong we should do, even if it goes against the grain."