t you here, that is to
say?"

"My misfortunes and my crimes," answered Ranald. "Know ye the Knight of
Ardenvohr?"

"I do know that honourable person," replied Dalgetty.

"But know ye where he now is?" replied Ranald.

"Fasting this day at Ardenvohr," answered the Envoy, "that he may feast
to-morrow at Inverary; in which last purpose if he chance to fail, my
lease of human service will be something precarious."

"Then let him know, one claims his intercession, who is his worst foe
and his best friend," answered Ranald.

"Truly I shall desire to carry a less questionable message," answered
Dalgetty, "Sir Duncan is not a person to play at reading riddles with."

"Craven Saxon," said the prisoner, "tell him I am the raven that,
fifteen years since, stooped on his tower of strength and the pledges
he had left there--I am the hunter that found out the wolfs den on the
rock, and destroyed his offspring--I am the leader of the band which
surprised Ardenvohr yesterday was fifteen years, and gave his four
children to the sword."

"Truly, my honest friend," said Dalgetty, "if that is your best
recommendation to Sir Duncan's favour, I would pretermit my pleading
thereupon, in respect I have observed that even the animal creation are
incensed against those who intromit with their offspring forcibly, much
more any rational and Christian creatures, who have had violence done
upon their small family. But I pray you in courtesy to tell me, whether
you assailed the castle from the hillock called Drumsnab, whilk I uphold
to be the true point of attack, unless it were to be protected by a
sconce."

"We ascended the cliff by ladders of withies or saplings," said the
prisoner, "drawn up by an accomplice and clansman, who had served six
months in the castle to enjoy that one night of unlimited vengeance.
The owl whooped around us as we hung betwixt heaven and earth; the tide
roared against the foot of the rock, and dashed asunder our skiff, yet
no man's heart failed him. In the morning there was blood and ashes,
where there had been peace and joy at the sunset."

"It was a pretty camisade, I doubt not, Ranald MacEagh, a very
sufficient onslaught, and not unworthily discharged. Nevertheless, I
would have pressed the house from that little hillock called Drumsnab.
But yours is a pretty irregular Scythian fashion of warfare, Ranald,
much resembling that of Turks, Tartars, and other Asiatic people.--But
the reason, my friend, the cau