Sercombe stood on his defence, wondering what devil was to pay, but beginning to think he might be in some wrong box. He had taken no trouble to understand the boundaries between Mr. Peregrine Palmer's land and that of the chief, and had imagined himself safe on the south side of the big burn. Alister gazed speechless for a moment on the slaughtered stag, and heaved a great sigh. "Mr. Sercombe," he said, "I would rather you had shot my best horse! Are you aware, sir, that you are a poacher?" "I had supposed the appellation inapplicable to a gentleman!" answered Sercombe, with entire coolness. "But by all means take me before a magistrate." "You are before a magistrate." "All I have to answer then is, that I should not have shot the animal had I not believed myself within my rights." "On that point, and on this very ground, I instructed you myself!" said the chief. "I misunderstood you." "Say rather you had not the courtesy to heed what I told you-had not faith enough to take the word of a gentleman! And for this my poor stag has suffered!" He stood for some moments in conflict with himself, then quietly resumed. "Of course, Mr. Sercombe, I have no intention of pushing the matter!" he said. "I should hope not!" returned Sercombe scornfully. "I will pay whatever you choose to set on the brute." It would be hard to say which was less agreeable to the chief-to have his stag called a brute, or be offered blood-money for him. "Stag Ruadh priced like a bullock!" he said, with a slow smile, full of sadness; "--the pride of every child in the strath! Not a gentleman in the county would have shot Clanruadh's deer!" Sercombe was by this time feeling uncomfortable, and it made him angry. He muttered something about superstition. "He was taken when a calf," the chief went on, "and given to a great-aunt of mine. But when he grew up, he took to the hills again, and was known by his silver collar till he managed to rid himself of it. He shall be buried where he lies, and his monument shall tell how the stranger Sasunnach served the stag of Clanruadh!" "Why the deuce didn't you keep the precious monster in a paddock, and let people know him for a tame animal?" sneered Sercombe. "My poor Euadh!" said the chief; "he was no tame animal! He as well as I would have preferred the death you have given him to such a fate. He lived while he lived! I thank you for his immediate transit. Shot right through the heart! Had you maimed him I should have been angrier." Sercombe felt flattered, and, attributing the chief's gentleness to a desire to please him, began to condescend. "Well, come now, Macruadh!" he began; but the chief turned from him. Hector stood with his arm on Rob's shoulder, and the tears rolling down his cheeks. He would not have wept but that the sobs of his son shook him.