in his eyrie, he sends a shout down the
glen--and Flora, with cheeks pale and bright by fits, is at last at his
side. Panting and speechless she stands--and then dizzily sinks on his
breast. Her hair is ruffled by the wind that revives her, and her face
all moistened by the snow-flakes, now not falling but driven--for the
day has undergone a dismal change, and all over the skies are now
lowering savage symptoms of a fast-coming night-storm.

Bare is poor Flora's head, and sorely drenched her hair, that an hour or
two ago glittered in the sunshine. Her shivering frame misses now the
warmth of the plaid, which almost no cold can penetrate, and which had
kept the vital current flowing freely in many a bitter blast. What would
the miserable boy give now for the coverings lying far away, which, in
his foolish passion, he flung down to chase that fatal deer! "Oh! Flora!
if you would not fear to stay here by yourself--under the protection of
God, who surely will not forsake you--soon will I go and come from the
place where our plaids are lying; and under the shelter of the deer we
may be able to outlive the hurricane--you wrapped up in them--and
folded--O my dearest sister--in my arms!"--"I will go with you down the
glen, Ranald!" and she left his breast--but, weak as a day-old lamb,
tottered and sank down on the snow. The cold--intense as if the air were
ice--had chilled her very heart, after the heat of that long race; and
it was manifest that here she must be for the night--to live or to die.
And the night seemed already come, so full was the lift of snow; while
the glimmer every moment became gloomier, as if the day were expiring
long before its time. Howling at a distance down the glen was heard a
sea-born tempest from the Linnhe-Loch, where now they both knew the tide
was tumbling in, bringing with it sleet and snow-blasts from afar; and
from the opposite quarter of the sky an inland tempest was raging to
meet it, while every lesser glen had its own uproar, so that on all
hands they were environed with death.

"I will go--and, till I return, leave you with God."--"Go, Ranald!" and
he went and came--as if he had been endowed with the raven's wings!

Miles away--and miles back had he flown--and an hour had not been with
his going and his coming--but what a dreary wretchedness meanwhile had
been hers! She feared that she was dying--that the cold snow-storm was
killing her--and that she would never more see Ranald, to say