"Donald Iverach, I tell you he shall never more behold those whom he looks on this day: I tell you so, and I never spoke in vain," cried the old sybil in Gaelic with a shrill voice. "When the brave sons of my bosom perished with their leader at Corunna, did I not know of their fall the hour it happened? The secret feeling, which a tongue cannot describe, informed me that they were no more. Yes; I heard the wild wind howl their death-song, as it swept down the pass of Craigonan, and I viewed their shapeless spirits floating in the black mist that clung round the tower of Lochisla on the night the field of Corunna was stricken, for many were the men of our race who perished there: the dead-bell sung to me the live-long night, and our caillochs and maidens were sighing and sad,—but I alone knew why." "Peace! bird of ill omen," replied the piper in the same language, overawed by the force of her words. "_Dhia gledh sinn!_ will you break the proud spirit of a _duinhe wassal_ of the house of Lochisla, when about to gird the claymore and leave the roof-tree of his fathers?" "Come, come; we have had enough of this," said Mr. Stuart. "Retire, Janet, and do not by your unseemly grief disturb the last hours that my son and I shall spend together." "A wreath, and ’tis not for nought, is coming across my auld een," she replied, pressing her withered hands upon her wrinkled brow. "Sorrow and woe are before us all. I have seen it in many a dark dream at midnicht, and heard it in the croak of the nicht-bird, as it screamed from its eyrie in Coirnan-Taischatrin,[*] where the wee men and women dance their rings in the bonnie moonlicht. Greet and be woefu’, my braw bairn, for we shall never behold ye mair. Ochon—ochon!" and pressing Ronald to her breast, this faithful old dependant rushed from the hall. [*] The cave of the seers. "Grief has distracted the poor old creature," said Mr. Stuart, making a strong effort to control the emotions which swelled his own bosom, while Ronald no longer concealed his, but covering his face with his hands, wept freely, and the piper began to blubber and sob in company. "Hoigh! oigh! Got tam! it’s joost naething but fairies’ spells and glaumorie that’s ever and aye in auld Janet’s mouth. She craiks and croaks like the howlets in the auld chapel-isle, till it’s gruesome to hear her. But dinna mind her, Maister Ronald; I’ll blaw up the bags, and cheer your heart wi’ the ’gathering’ on the bonnie _piob mhor_." The piper retired to the yard, where the cotters and many a shepherd from the adjacent hills were assembled to behold Ronald depart, and bid him farewell. Ronald’s father, the good old man, although his heart was wrung and oppressed by the dismal forebodings of his retainer, did all that he possibly could to raise the drooping spirits of his son, by holding out hopes of quick promotion and a speedy return home; but Ronald wept like a youth as he was, and answered only by his tears.