rwards that I looked as if turned to stone. And,
indeed, indeed, my heart felt so. When father first told me we should go
back no more to Coila I felt almost happy that the bad news was no worse;
but now that explanations had followed, my perplexity was extreme.

One thing was sure and certain--there was a conspiracy, and the events of
that terrible night at the ruin had to do with it. The evil man Duncan
M'Rae was in it. Townley suspected it from words I must have let fall in
my delirium; but, worst of all, my mouth was sealed. Oh, why, why did I
not rather die than be thus bound!

It must be remembered that I was very young, and knew not then that an
oath so forced upon me could not be binding.

Come weal, come woe, however, I determined to keep my word.

* * * * *

The scene of our story changes now to Edinburgh itself. Here we had all
gone to live in a house owned by aunt, not far from the Calton Hill. We
were comparatively poor now, for father, with the honour and Christian
feeling that ever characterized him, had even paid up back rent to the new
owner of Coila Castle and Glen.

That parting from Coila had been a sad one. I was not there--luckily for
me, perhaps; but Townley has told me of it often and often.

'Yes, Murdoch M'Crimman,' he said, 'I have been present at the funeral of
many a Highland chief, but none of these impressed me half so much as the
scene in Glen Coila, when the carriage containing your dear father and
mother and Flora left the old castle and wound slowly down the glen. Men,
women, and little ones joined in procession, and marched behind it, and so
followed on and on till they reached the glen-foot, with the bagpipes
playing "Farewell to Lochaber." This affected your father as much, I
think, as anything else. As for your mother, she sat silently weeping, and
Flora dared hardly trust herself to look up at all. Then the parting! The
chief, your father, stood up and addressed his people--for "his people" he
still would call them. There was not a tremor in his voice, nor was
there, on the other hand, even a spice of bravado. He spoke to them
calmly, logically. In the old days, he said, might had been right, and
many a gallant corps of heroes had his forefathers led from the glen, but
times had changed. They were governed by good laws, and good laws meant
fair play, for they protected all alike, gentle and simple, poor as well
as rich. He bade them