p on roof and road,
Ludar and I walked in a strange procession through the streets of
Dublin. In front went three trumpeters on horseback, with the pennon of
England drooping from their trumpets. Behind them rode a picked troop
of English horse, gaily caparisoned and very brave with ribbons and
trappings. Then, alone, went Sir John Perrott, the Lord Deputy, a
smirking man who seemed to doubt the whole business. He was mounted
too, and at his tail rode three officers of his house, and after them
more trumpeters and troopers. Then came the strange part of the
procession, for at the heels of these English cavaliers stalked fifty
huge redshanks with the McDonnell's heather in their bonnets, and their
hands on their sword-hilts.

Yet still stranger was what came next. For, unarmed, with long, slow
strides, walked a noble figure of commanding stature, whose eyes flashed
now and again on the shouting rabble, and whose white hair, escaped from
his cap, waved tempestuously in the winter wind. There walked Sorley
Boy, upright, sullen, disdainful; and behind him came Ludar, with tight-
pressed lips and thunderous brow, his fingers twitching nervously on his
belt, and his feet at every step kicking the snow impatiently from his
path. I followed my master as in duty bound, and behind us stalked
fifty more silent Scots.

Such was the procession which conducted Sorley Boy McDonnell at the end
of his stormy career to do homage to the English Queen. How it all came
to pass I know not. But once possessed of Dunluce, with his favourite
son gone from his side, the old man broke down, and sighed for peace.
'Twas said the English paid a good price for his alliance, in territory
for himself, and lands and title for his elder sons. Be that as it may.
He sheathed his sword, and called in his fighting men all round. He
heeded not Ludar's demand for vengeance on his brother's murderers; and,
indeed, forbade any man to mention Sir Alexander's name in his hearing.
Yet day by day the empty chair stood beside his in the castle hall; and
day by day, at the muster call, the young chief's riderless horse fell
into its place betwixt that of the father and the second son, Sir
Randal.

As for Ludar, when after many weeks the fever left him and he rose from
his bed, his father and he met rarely, and spoke less. For the old man
(sad to tell), from the day that he came into his own, had changed
towards his youngest son, and, blaming him for th