riends") as I might to the babbling of a parrot.

The odd thing was that I fancy he believed some part of it himself, or
did at times; I think he was so false all through that he scarce knew
when he was lying; and for one thing, his moments of dejection must have
been wholly genuine. There were times when he would be the most silent,
affectionate, clinging creature possible, holding Catriona's hand like a
big baby, and begging of me not to leave if I had any love to him; of
which, indeed, I had none, but all the more to his daughter. He would
press, and indeed beseech us to entertain him with our talk--a thing
very difficult in the state of our relations; and again break forth in
pitiable regrets for his own land and friends, or into Gaelic singing.

"This is one of the melancholy airs of my native land," he would say.
"You may think it strange to see a soldier weep, and indeed it is to
make a near friend of you," says he. "But the notes of this singing are
in my blood, and the words come out of my heart. And when I mind upon my
red mountains, and the wild birds calling there, and the brave streams
of water running down, I would scarce think shame to weep before my
enemies." Then he would sing again, and translate to me pieces of the
song, with a great deal of boggling and much expressed contempt against
the English language. "It says here," he would say, "that the sun is
gone down, and the battle is at an end, and the brave chiefs are
defeated. And it tells here how the stars see them fleeing into strange
countries or lying dead on the red mountain; and they will never more
shout the call of battle or wash their feet in the streams of the
valley. But if you had only some of this language, you would weep also,
because the words of it are beyond all expression, and it is mere
mockery to tell you it in English."

Well, I thought there was a good deal of mockery in the business, one
way and another; and yet, there was some feeling too, for which I hated
him, I think, the worst of all. And it used to cut me to the quick to
see Catriona so much concerned for the old rogue, and weeping herself to
see him weep, when I was sure one half of his distress flowed from his
last night's drinking in some tavern. There were times when I was
tempted to lend him a round sum, and see the last of him for good; but
this would have been to see the last of Catriona as well, for which I
was scarcely so prepared; and besides, it went against m