“The Glen o’ Weeping! The Glen o’ Weeping!” As they advanced farther into the Glen, a few scattered dull-colored dwellings became visible, mostly situated in the windings and twistings of the steep sides, and as they drew yet nearer the very heart of the valley they beheld, spread before them twenty or thirty rude huts gathered in some semblance of order round a central one of more pretentious size. They did not seem the habitations of human beings, but more like the quarries or lairs of some strange wild beasts; there were no people about, but from some of the roofs a thin curl of smoke arose. The girl on the Highland pony, Delia Featherstonehaugh, looked long at the cluster of huts as they neared them. “The chief of the Macdonalds dwells here?” she asked. He nodded taciturnly. They came slowly over the worn and faded heather into the center of the little colony, then Delia slipped from her horse. “Makian’s house,” said the Highlander, pointing to the largest dwelling, and she followed him to the door, leading her tired pony; her garments were blown about her in the wind and her long locks escaped and flew across her face; she lifted her eyes again to the mountains in their grand solitude and her breast rose with the trembling of a sigh. Her guide struck on the door and instantly it was opened; the Highlander turned with an abrupt gesture to the woman, standing without in the gray. “A Saxon woman, Macdonald, with a message for you,” he said. An old man, wrapped in a plaid, stood in the doorway, he stared from one to the other as the shepherd continued: “She met your son Ronald in the Lowlands, and he bid her come to me if ever she had need of finding him, and so she came with news of disaster to you, and I brought her thither.” “Disaster?” echoed Makian. Delia Featherstonehaugh stepped over the threshold. She had a glimpse of a warmly-lighted interior and a group of men playing cards; she stood silent a moment with her hand on the door-post and Makian stared at her. Then she spoke: “I am an emissary of the King,” she said; she laid her hand on the old Highlander’s arm and her eager eyes looked straightly up into his. “I sent you—and all the clans a warning—by your son, you remember, Macdonald?” He nodded, the men round the fire had risen and were listening too; her voice rose, gaining in steadiness. “I warned you to take the oaths to the government—I warned you that the Campbells were preparing a vengeance—” Makian interrupted. “We took the oaths—I went through the snows to Inverary and took the oaths.” “Too late!” she answered bitterly. “Too late! Too long you dallied—and maybe I also am too late!” Again he interposed. “But we are under the government’s protection—I was assured of that.”