Over everything was that sense of fear aroused, of wrath held in leash, before every one was that picture of the passes filling silently with red-coated Campbells; of strangely-armed soldiers coming from Fort William, steadily, with bloody purpose, still nearer; in every mind was there thought of Jock Campbell of Breadalbane, wronged, insulted, moving at last from his quiet with a terrible revenge. To all the little glens and colonies messengers went out; Sandy and Ian Macdonald dragged out ancient guns with watchful eyes up the pass, Makian gave commands calmly, women looked on grimly and put their children behind them; over everything that sense of oppression of disaster gathering in silence; before all that vision of the Campbells coming steadily. One man alone stood apart, Ronald Macdonald wrapped in his plaid, indifferent against the open door. The gray day was growing grayer; up from rifts and hidden valleys in the hills came the tacksmen of Macdonald; contained, silent, in a moment comprehending, in a moment seeing that picture of the Campbells, of Strath Tay held, of Breadalbane rising in Invernesshire, of Argyll rising in Argyllshire, of themselves surrounded, trapped, sport for the enemy, food for his sword. Small they appeared beneath the vastness of the hills, the wild splendor of the tossing clouds, the wide spread of the sky, not more than seventy men, all told, and Delia’s heart cried out within her. As the daylight faded it grew colder; so cold that the children were taken back into the huts; a few flakes of snow fell across the grayness of the sky and drifted lightly onto the shoulders of the men. Would they wait till it was dark? Would they come to-night? The question went from mouth to mouth; Makian bitterly cursed the government that had so foully deceived him; he spoke of the assurances the sheriff had given him that they were safe. And Delia thought of the suppressed oath and her cheeks went hot with shame; they misplaced their curses; one and only one deserved them, but she could not speak his name. They were gathered together to leave the valley, packing their few poor goods, calling up their herds, their ponies—there must be some outlet to the Glen unguarded, unknown to any. They said very little; dread and fear were among them as a living devil, clutching the throat of each; only the little children wailed, miserably, because of the cruel cold and the strangeness of this desertion of the fireside for the chill heather. Delia turned to Ronald who gave no sign. “You do not come?” she said; she noticed that he was pale, haggard and preoccupied; he lifted wild eyes to hers. “Her husband will be among them—I gave him his life once—I shall not touch him now—I will not fight the clan that holds Margaret Campbell, though she spurn me for a coward.” Then he added simply: “I shall be very glad to die.”