Huske was now nearly half a mile from his sentinels; but in the clear summer twilight he could see their figures distinctly, with their dark grey coats and white leggings; and then he thought of returning, when an armed Highlander, who had been crouching among the heather, rose up suddenly as an apparition, to bar his way. His round shield was braced upon his left arm, and his drawn claymore was glittering in his right hand. Major Huske laid his hand on his sword, and stepping forward a pace or two resolutely, found himself face to face with--ROB ROY! CHAPTER XLIII. MAJOR HUSKE'S REVENGE. For a moment Rob, who had been scouting or reconnoitring in person by the Earl of Seaforth's request, surveyed the major with evident doubt and irresolution expressed in his sunburnt face, for this was the hour when, as the Celts suppose, the spirits of evil are abroad, and when wraiths and demons of the air may assume the forms of human beings at will; while, on the other hand, Huske, to whom no such absurd idea occurred, and who had just reason to respect and fear Rob's personal strength, thrust his cocked-hat firmly upon his head, and surveyed his foe, with fury and hatred sparkling in his sombre eyes. "So, villain!" he exclaimed, "we are fated to meet again!" "Beware how we part, if this is to be the style of our conversation!" replied MacGregor, sternly. "Fellow, are you so ignorant, or so stupid, as to be unaware that by uttering a shout or firing this pistol I can have you surrounded, and hanged or shot, in three minutes?" "Then, beware, Major Huske, how you fire the shot or utter the shout; for ere you finished either, my father's sword would clatter in your breast-bone," replied the other, quietly. "Defend yourself, then, traitor though you be!" said Huske, drawing a pistol from his girdle and cocking it. "I am no traitor," retorted MacGregor, proudly, "for I never owned as king the German prince you serve, but am the liegeman of James VIII., whose enemies may God confound! Moreover, I have no wish to encounter you again, Major Huske--at least, until this child, which has been long my peculiar care, is in a place of safety." As he spoke he pointed to a boy, who was no other than little Harry, the child taken at Inversnaid, and who was sound asleep on the soft heather, with Rob's tartan plaid wrapped round him. "Right," said Huske, hoarsely; "my time for retribution has come; this child shall go before the Highland dog his father!" Levelling his pistol in an instant, and before MacGregor could interpose, the major shot the sleeping child through the body. There was a convulsive gasp, a shudder under the tartan plaid, and all was over! "Unfortunate wretch--oh, mistaken coward!" exclaimed Rob Roy, in a piercing voice. "Major Huske, by Heaven and St. Mary, you have destroyed your own son!"