ou
do--"

Kenneth did not finish his sentence, but made a peculiar cluck with his
tongue--a sound which might have meant anything.

All this time the old man stood, with his flowing white locks and beard,
motioning to Max to come; and unwillingly enough he entered the old
tower, and climbed cautiously up, avoiding the broken places, and
finally reaching the chamber in the top.

"She shall sit town there," said the old man, pointing to a stool set in
the ruinous fireplace; and, without the slightest idea of what was going
to happen, Max seated himself and waited to hear what the piper had to
say.

He was not kept long in suspense, for the old man said, with a
benevolent look on his ancient face,--

"She lo'es ta pipes, and she shall hear them the noo, for they're mentit
up, and tere's nae music like them in ta wide world."

As he spoke, he raised the lid of a worm-eaten old chest, and, smiling
the while, took out the instrument, placed the green baize-covered bag
under one arm, arranged the long pipes over his shoulder, and, inflating
his cheeks, seemed to mount guard over the doorway, making Max a
complete prisoner, and sending a thrill of misery through him, as, after
producing a few sounds, the old man took the mouthpiece from his lips,
and said, with a smile,--

"`Macrimmon's Lament.'"

Max felt as if he should like to stick his fingers in his ears, but he
dared not,--as if he should like to rush down the stairs, but he could
not. For the old man fixed him with his eyes, and, keeping his head
turned towards his prisoner, began to march up and down the broken stone
floor, and blew so wild a dirge that in a few moments it became almost
maddening.

For Max Blande's nerves, from the retired London life he had led, were
sensitive to a degree. He had never had them strung up by open-air
sports or life among the hills, but had passed his time in study,
reading almost incessantly; though even to the ears of an athlete, if he
were shut up in a small chamber with a piper, the strains evoked from
this extremely penetrating instrument might jar.

As Donald marched up and down in a pace that was half trot, half dance,
his eyes brightened and sparkled; his yellow cheeks flushed as they were
puffed out; and, as he went to and fro before the window, the sea-breeze
made his long hair and beard stream out behind, giving him a wild, weird
aspect that was almost startling, as it helped to impress Max with a
feeling of aw