cond sight) "than you
will be able to get out of for many a day."

The old woman only repeated, with a ghastly look, "There is blood on
your hand, and it is English blood. The blood of the Gael is richer and
redder. Let us see--let us--"

Ere Robin Oig could prevent her, which, indeed, could only have been by
positive violence, so hasty and peremptory were her proceedings, she had
drawn from his side the dirk which lodged in the folds of his plaid, and
held it up, exclaiming, although the weapon gleamed clear and bright in
the sun, "Blood, blood--Saxon blood again. Robin Oig M'Combich, go not
this day to England!"

"Prutt, trutt," answered Robin Oig, "that will never do neither--it
would be next thing to running the country. For shame, Muhme--give me
the dirk. You cannot tell by the colour the difference betwixt the blood
of a black bullock and a white one, and you speak of knowing Saxon from
Gaelic blood. All men have their blood from Adam, Muhme. Give me my
skene-dhu, and let me go on my road. I should have been half way to
Stirling brig by this time. Give me my dirk, and let me go."

"Never will I give it to you," said the old woman--"Never will I quit
my hold on your plaid--unless you promise me not to wear that unhappy
weapon."

The women around him urged him also, saying few of his aunt's words fell
to the ground; and as the Lowland farmers continued to look moodily on
the scene, Robin Oig determined to close it at any sacrifice.

"Well, then," said the young drover, giving the scabbard of the weapon
to Hugh Morrison, "you Lowlanders care nothing for these freats. Keep my
dirk for me. I cannot give it you, because it was my father's; but your
drove follows ours, and I am content it should be in your keeping, not
in mine.--Will this do, Muhme?"

"It must," said the old woman--"that is, if the Lowlander is mad enough
to carry the knife."

The strong Westlandman laughed aloud.

"Goodwife," said he, "I am Hugh Morrison from Glenae, come of the Manly
Morrisons of auld lang syne, that never took short weapon against a man
in their lives. And neither needed they. They had their broadswords, and
I have this bit supple"--showing a formidable cudgel; "for dirking ower
the board, I leave that to John Highlandman.--Ye needna snort, none of
you Highlanders, and you in especial, Robin. I'll keep the bit knife,
if you are feared for the auld spaewife's tale, and give it back to you
whenever you want it."

Robin was