_Eoghainn_ having covered the only entrance to the cave with their plaids, struck a light and introduced, to his astonished friends, his betrothed young Mary Maclauchlan. The poor girl had understood by the garter which bound the terrier's neck, and which she herself had woven, that her _Eoghainn_ was in the neighbourhood, and hastened to his relief with all the ready provision she could procure; and not least, in the estimation of at least two of the fugitives, the feeling maiden had brought them a sip of unblemished whisky. In this manner they had been supplied with aliment for some time, when one night their fair visitor failed to come as usual. This, though it created no immediate alarm, somewhat astonished them; but when the second night came and neither Mary nor her shaggy companion arrived, _Eoghainn's_ uneasiness, on Mary's account, overcame every other feeling, and, in spite of all remonstrance, he ventured forth, in order to ascertain the cause of her delay. The night was dark and squally, and _Eoghainn_ was proceeding up his native glen like one who felt that the very sound of his tread might betray him to death. With a beating heart he had walked upwards of two miles, when his ears were saluted with the distant report of a musket. Springing aside he concealed himself in a thicket which overhung the river. Here he remained but a very short time when he was joined by the _Craicean_ dragging after him a cord, several yards in length. This circumstance brought the cold sweat from the brow of the _Brocair_. He knew that their enemies were in pursuit of them, that the cord had been affixed to the dogs neck in order that he might lead to their place of concealment; and alas! _Eoghainn_ feared much that his betrothed was at the mercy of his pursuers. What was to be done? The moment was big with fate, but he was determined to meet it like a man. Cutting the cord and whispering to the terrier, "_cul mo chois_" (back of my heel) he again ventured to the road and moved warily onward. On arriving at an old wicker-wrought barn, he saw a light streaming from it, when creeping towards it, he observed a party of the enemy surrounding poor Mary Maclauchlan, who was, at the moment, undergoing a close examination by their officer. 'Come girl,' said he, 'though that blind rascal has let your dog escape, who would certainly have introduced us to the rebels, _you_ will surely consult your own safety by guiding me to the spot; nay, I know you will, here is my purse in token of my future friendship, and in order to conceal your share in the transaction you and I shall walk together to a place where you may point me out the lurking place of these fellows, and leave the rest to me; and do you,' continued he, turning to his party, 'remain all ready until you hear a whistle, when instantly make for the spot.' The _Brocair_ crouched, as many a time he did, but never before did his heart beat at such a rate. As the officer and his passive guide took the