"But his clan has been opposed to Ben-na-Groich for hundreds of years. He'll murder _you_--and _me_!--oh dear! oh dear! he'll force me to be Mrs Fash-na-Cairn!" Here Miss Alice, overcome by her horrible imaginings, covered her face with her hands; but whether she wept or not history does not record. "Will ye no let a poddy sleep, and be d--d till ye?" again screamed the shrill voice of Angus Mohr; "hoo mony mair o' ye southron prutes is coming yammering to the door?" No answer, apparently, was given to this inquiry, for it was renewed with bitterer tones than before. "Fat's a' this o't?--wi' swords and targets, an' the Stuart stripe in yer plaids. Are ye come to harry ta auld fat man? huigh! hurra! Cot, an Angus had a dirk himsell, he'd pit it up to the handle in ta fat cairl's wame." While these words of encouragement or inquiry were issuing from the wrathful native, a hurry of steps was heard upon the stairs--the clank of steel, as if of the crossing of swords, sounded in the passage, and with a shout, Fash-na-Cairn! Fash-na-Cairn! the parlour door was burst open, and six wild figures in the full Highland costume rushed in upon the deliberations of the new chieftain and his household. One of the party seized the arm of Aunt Alice; another, with a flat-sided blow of his claymore, laid our heroic friend Copus quietly on the floor; a third took Jane Somers by the hand as she sat retired in a corner of the room, and kept guard over her during the whole of the scene; while the others placed themselves opposite the astonished Ben-na-Groich himself, and pointed their weapons at his throat without saying a word. "What do you want, gentlemen?" said that individual, with a tremor in his voice that revealed the conflict within. "I'll give you a cheque for as much as you require--fix your own price! What shall it be?" "Revenge!" said a hollow voice, proceeding from the chief of the party. "I have you now in my power--the first time after a search of eight hundred years." "What have I done? I never did you a mischief; if I did, I'm willing to pay damages, assessed by your own surveyor." "Your ancestor, Fin of the crooked finger, stabbed my ancestor, Kenneth of the flat nose, as he dined with him in this hall in the reign of Fergus the First--give me back his blood." "Can't, indeed--haven't a drop of it, or any one else's blood; but I will pay the worth of it--only spare my life." "Fash-na-Cairn may spare, but on one condition--you have a sister." "Oh no, indeed he hasn't, sir," said Miss Alice, "she died when she was quite a baby." "Speak, dog," said the ruthless Fash-na-Cairn, kicking Copus as he lay on the carpet; "who is the sister of Ben-na-Groich?" "That 'ere middle-aged lady with the red nose. That's our Miss Alice." "She must be Fash-na-Cairn's bride, or the wolf's skin must cover Ben-na-Groich." "Oh dear, oh dear," sighed the disconsolate lady, "will nothing do but that?" "Even that won't save him--I see another maiden."