o my voice!
And my brother!--where is my brother?--the son of my mother--more
headstrong and foolish than yoursel'! Ye daurna answer, and ye needna
answer. He is dead! The horse of Cunningham have trampled on his body,
and he lies unburied.'

"I didna ken how to find words to speak to her, and, indeed, I was
hardly able to speak; for the pain and stiffness of my wounds were
terrible to endure, and there was a sickness about my heart that made me
that I could have been willing to have lain down and died; and even
welcomed death, as a weary man would welcome sleep.

"I was almost recovered from my wounds before we were exactly certain
as to your uncle's fate; and that was when three out of the four that
had accompanied us were permitted by Cunningham to return home, the
other having died of his wounds a few days after the unlucky foray. From
their account, it appeared that the person shot by your uncle, while
watching the cattle against the inroads of an enemy, was none other than
the only brother of Cunningham. He was not aware of his brother's death
until after the affray, when he was found lying in the enclosure, into
which the cattle were again driven. He was offering a free pardon to all
his prisoners, save him by whose hand his brother fell, upon condition
that they would betray him, when your uncle, starting up from the
uncouth litter of branches, rudely torn from the trees, and upon which
he was carried, cried out--'I did it!--my hand brought him down from his
watch-box, like a crow from its roost!'

"'To the turret wi' him!' exclaimed Cunningham wildly; 'and fling him
from its pinnacle to the yard below.'

"The fierce command was fiercely and willingly obeyed. Your uncle was
borne to the top of the tower over the wall, and hurled headlong to the
ground; and he lay there, with the cattle trampling upon him, and the
dogs licking his sores, until he was dead.

"Your mother heard the tidings in silence; but, from that day until
this, she has never been as she used to be. Her anger is awful in a
woman; and she vows and says the day will come when she will have
revenge upon the name of Cunningham. She has spoken little of her gift
of second-sight since ye were born; but she is often subject to long and
gloomy fits of silent melancholy, as ye have all been witnesses; and I
attribute it all to our foray to Simprin. But" (the old man would add in
conclusion), "would that the good old times were come back again, when