His carelessness threw about him a grandeur, lifting him above the others, each one eager for his own life; Delia looked at him and laid her hand on his folded arms. “I too,” she said quietly, “better to be dead than to be—alone. And I have no purpose in life.” The long line of ponies had come up; the bundles were strapped on them; the Macdonalds were moving to and fro. Then it happened Delia dropped her hand from Ronald’s arm and cried out: “The soldiers!” They had come at a full gallop round a turn in the Glen; at a full gallop they came over the heather and at a shout from their leader drew up a few paces off. As suddenly as the falling snow or the rain will cover the ground, so suddenly had these soldiers appeared and spread themselves across the Glen before the Macdonalds could fly or scream or warn each other; before they could do anything save realize their peril. The leader of the redcoats was almost in their midst, in the security of his steel cuirass he defied them; he was a large red man with a freckled face showing under his black beaver; his horse was panting with the speed of his gallop, he patted her neck carelessly, while he spoke: “Macdonald! surrender, in the name of the King—” he swept his glance over the confused array; he noted the preparations for flight. “So ye have been warned of my coming!” he said and laughed. Across the Glen spread the soldiers, cavalry and foot; the last light gleamed in their steel collars and muskets; Makian, at the head of his people, looked sternly at the leader who swept off his hat with another laugh; his red hair was blown back from his face and his light eyes gleamed as he spoke for the third time: “Ye know me, Macdonald?” “Ay,” answered Makian in an impassive voice. “I know you, Robert Campbell of Glenlyon. I know not your errand.” Captain Campbell lifted a gauntleted hand against the darkening sky, beckoning his men nearer. “I come to root out your cursed den of thieves,” he said. “By the command of Scotland and the King.” “Ye lying Campbell!” cried Makian. “We are under the protection of the King! I took the oath.” “Too late,” smiled Glenlyon. “Ye are approved traitors and rebels, therefore surrender.” At this Delia Featherstonehaugh came from the side of Ronald and crossed the wet heather between the Campbells and Macdonald till she came to Glenlyon’s saddle bow. “Captain Campbell,” she said. He looked down at her in a quick surprise. “Take care,” said Delia. “I know—I know that the submission of these people has been suppressed.” Glenlyon frowned, and his eyes were curiously intent on her. “Who are you, mistress?” he asked. “Does it matter?” Her words came quickly, she put her hand on his rein; both soldiers and Highlanders watched her in silence. “What authority have you? Take care how ye satisfy a private feud under cover of the law.”