Muckle John was facing him, his long hair loose about his neck, his vast forearms bared, perfectly motionless, a figure of colossal strength. Suddenly there was a faint scuffle and footsteps in the entrance way. "Dr. Cameron--Dr. Cameron!" said a low voice, with the round softness of a foreign accent. They all looked towards the narrow passage which led from the valley below, and Rob sprang to his feet at the sight. For standing there, dressed in faded, tattered clothes, thin and harassed, but with a smile upon his lips, was Prince Charlie. CHAPTER XVII THE HOLDING OF THE PASS He was very different to the gallant figure of Inverness and Edinburgh days. Weeks of wandering in the wildest Highland country had brought out his finest, most admirable qualities. Hardship, that strange test of man, had made him far dearer and more romantic than he had ever been before. There was no jealousy of Irish favourites now--no dread of English influence when St. James's should be reached--all that was gone never to return. There was instead a Prince in a tattered kilt, and a dirty shirt, bare-footed and with a gun in his hand, a pistol and dirk by his side--a man just like themselves and thrown by the harshness of destiny upon their loyalty and succour. Here was a Prince indeed, one who could march and shoot and have a merry word at the end of the day. Had they known what was in him a year before, who can say but the Highlands would have risen to a man. To Rob he was wonderful, just because he was human and in distress. Even to Muckle John, strange medley of contradictions as he was, there was present in the harassed figure in the opening to the cave an emotional appeal like the lilt of an old song. Some day he knew he would compose a melody for his beloved chanter. The very notion of it brought a lump to his throat. Meanwhile the Prince had looked them all over with his keen frank eyes. "Gentlemen," he said in an utterly exhausted voice, "I crave your pardon for interrupting your sport; but I am, as you see, a fugitive and hard pressed. It is good to come upon you, Dr. Cameron, so unexpectedly, for I have sore need of your guidance at this time." Then, turning to Muckle John, he looked him up and down. "I seem to remember your face, sir," he said. "If this is your country, may I claim the rights of Highland hospitality?" "Your Highness..." broke out Cameron. But he shook his head at him. "No Prince to-day," he said, "but only a hunted man, with more thought for his next meal than the Crown of England itself." With a start Muckle John came forward and knelt at his feet.