s. I must do my duty.'

'Never!' shouted Rae. 'Never shall my clan obey your commands!'

'You refuse to fight for Charlie?'

'Under your banner--yes!'

'Then draw, dog! Were you ten times more closely related to me, you should
eat your words or drown them in your blood!'

Half an hour afterwards the M'Crimmans were on the march southwards, their
bold young chief at their head, banners streaming and pibroch ringing!
but, alas! their kinsman Rae lay stark and stiff on the bare hillside.

There and then was established the feud that lasted so long and so
bitterly. Surrounded by her vassals and retainers, loud in their wailing
for their departed chief, the widowed wife had thrown herself on the body
of her husband in a paroxysm of wild, uncontrollable grief.

But nought could restore life and animation to that lowly form. The dead
chief lay on his back, with face up-turned to the sky's blue, which his
eyes seemed to pierce. His bonnet had fallen off, his long yellow hair
floated on the grass, his hand yet grasped the great claymore, but his
tartans were dyed with blood.

Then a brother of the Rae approached and led the weeping woman gently
away. Almost immediately the warriors gathered and knelt around the
corpse and swore the terrible feud--swore eternal enmity to the house of
Coila--'to fight the clan wherever found, to wrestle, to rackle and rive
with them, and never to make peace

'While there's leaf on the forest
Or foam on the river.'

We all know the story of Prince Charlie's expedition, and how, after
victories innumerable, all was lost to his cause through disunions in his
own camps; how his sun went down on the red field of Culloden Moor; how
true and steadfast, even after defeat, the peasant Highlanders were to
their chief; and how the glens and straths were devastated by fire and
sword; and how the streams ran red with the innocent blood of old men and
children, spilled by the brutal soldiery of the ruthless duke.

The M'Crimmans lost their estates. The Raes had never fought for Charlie.
Their glen was spared, but the hopes of M'Rae--the young chief--were
blighted, for after years of exile the M'Crimman was pardoned, and fires
were once more lit in the halls of Castle Coila.

Long years went by, many of the Raes went abroad to fight in foreign lands
wherever good swords were needed and lusty arms to wield them withal; but
those who remained in or near Stratht