She shook her head. “I must find my people,” she said resolutely. “Tell me the way—they ride in the direction of Glenorchy.” Macdonald’s eyes flashed. “Jock Campbell’s castle—you go there!” he cried. “I go that way—not there,” she answered, “but to Loch Awe.” He was appeased again. “Glenorchy is three miles from here,” he said. “And Glencoe some ten—as you are a woman I will go with you to find your people.” She made no show of either gratitude or refusal. “I shall die of cold,” she said impatiently. “Take the bridle and lead the way.” The drizzle had settled into a steady downpour; the sky was a merciless even gray; the distant hills wreathed with heavy rain clouds, the gloomy rocks about them running with water. Macdonald took the horse’s head in silence and led him across the squelching heather. They were at the top of the ravine; the country before them was broken and utterly wild, but he had no fear of losing his way while he had the use of his eyes. The woman shuddered closer into her coat. “Put me on the road to Glenorchy,” she said. “My people will be looking for me.” “Would you not be afraid alone, Helen Fraser?” he asked. “No,” she answered quietly. “Are you friendly with the Clan of Campbell?” he said, “for you must cross their lands.” “I know nothing of them,” came the tired voice from the great collar. “But—I say—I am not afraid.” He was silent again; he knew little or nothing of the distant Clan of Frasers, he marveled at the dress and refined appearance of this woman: he had never seen any but the Campbell’s women in this Lowland habit. Neither spoke as they wound through the rocks and heather; he at the horse’s head, heedless of the cold and rain; she huddled on the saddle, shivering under it. She spoke at last so suddenly that he turned with a start. “Who are those?” she said. He looked in the direction her gloved hand pointed. From the branch of a great fir-tree two men were dangling, the rain dripping forlornly from their soaked clothes and the fair hair that fell over their dead faces. “Campbells,” answered Macdonald. “Would there were more than two.” She turned her gaze from the dead men; her face was utterly unmoved. “How you hate these Campbells, Macdonald of Glencoe,” she said curiously. He was bewildered by her note of wonder, turned it over in his mind and could think of nothing to say but: “I am a prince of the Macdonalds.” “God fend me from these feuds!” she cried. “My people live at peace.” “They would not, Helen Fraser, if they were two hundred men alone in the country of the Campbells.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his color risen. “To one side of us we have MacCallum More himself—to the other Jock Campbell of Breadalbane and his vassals swarm in their hundreds—but we do no homage—because there has been no Campbell yet dare enter Glencoe.” He had stopped with the force of his words and his fierce eyes measured her narrowly. She gave her slow smile: