"Rob of the Angels," Alister said in their mother-tongue, "you must make an apology to the Sasunnach gentleman for drawing the knife on him. That was wrong, if he had killed all the deer in Benruadh." "It was not for that, Macruadh," answered Rob of the Angels. "It was because he struck my father, and laid a better man than himself on the grass." The chief turned to the Englishman. "Did the old man strike you, Mr. Sercombe?" "No, by Jove! I took a little care of that! If he had, I would have broke every bone in his body!" "Why did you strike him then?" "Because he rushed at me." "It was his duty to capture a poacher!--But you did not know he was deaf and dumb!" Alister added, as some excuse. "The deaf makes no difference!" protested Bob. "Hector of the Stags does not fight with his hands like a woman!" "Well, what's done is done!" laughed Sercombe. "It wasn't a bad shot anyhow!" "You have little to plume yourself upon, Mr. Sercombe!" said the chief. "You are a good shot, but you need not have been so frightened at an old man as to knock him down!" "Come, come, Macruadh! enough's enough! It's time to drop this!" returned Sercombe. "I can't stand much more of it!--Take ten pounds for the head!--Come!" The chief made one great stride towards him, but turned away, and said, "Come along, Rob! Tell your father you must not go up the hill again to-night." "No, sir," answered Bob; "there's nothing now to go up the hill for! Poor old Buadh! God rest his soul!" "Amen!" responded the chief; "but say rather, 'God give him room to run!'" "Amen! It is better.--But," added Kob, "we must watch by the body. The foxes and hooded crows are gathering already--I hear them on the hills; and I saw a sea-eagle as white as silver yesterday! We cannot leave Ruadh till he is under God's plaid!" "Then one of you come and fetch food and fire," said the chief. "I will be with you early." Father and son communicated in silence, and Rob went with the chief. "They worship the stag, these peasants, as the old Egyptians the bull!" said Sercombe to himself, walking home full of contempt. CHAPTER VIII. THE STAG'S HEAD. Alister went straight to his brother's room, his heart bursting with indignation. It was some time before Ian could get the story from him in plain consecution; every other moment he would diverge into fierce denunciations. "Hadn't you better tell your master what has happened?" at length said Ian. "He ought to know why you curse one of your fellows so bitterly." Alister was dumb. For a moment he looked aghast. "Ian!" he said: "You think he wants to be told anything? I always thought you believed in his divinity!" "Ah!" returned Ian, "but do you? How am I to imagine it, when you go on like that in his hearing? Is it so you acknowledge his presence?"