se in my throat, for a sorrow I kent not, except that
the wind moaned eerily through the thatch, and grey and gurly grew the
sea, with the black jackdaws flying low inshore. The uneasy cattle
were lowing in the byre, and the rain fell in great drops from the
leafless trees--fell on the cold wet earth, and the fire on the hearth
was out, and cold white ash marked where nevermore would peat be
lighted; and oh! I heard the wail of the mourners, and saw the sobbing
daughter cling to her mother, and the youngest son leave for the wars,
the last of his house and name, and his name forgotten in the glens
already.

"Stop him, stop him," I cried; "there's cold death at my very side, and
his breath on my cheek like an east wind," and I would have run from
the room.

"Death," cried the Red Laird--"death. I flouted him in my youth; I
wrestled with him and flung him from me. I laughed at his cold eyes
across a naked sword, and spurned him on the heather; but now in my
age, when my bones are brittle and my arms shrunk, he creeps behind me
again, sure, sure o' his prey," and as he spoke he crouched like a
stealthy enemy, one groping hand outstretched. Then he flung himself
upright, his eyes flashing, dauntless as a lion.

"Come then, Death, to the last grips wi' Red Roland; ay, your cold hand
is at my throat, old warrior--ay, but mine is firmer yet. The Onset,
the Onset, the blare o' it, the madness o' it for Red Roland's last
fight," and at his words the swinging lamp went out with the last great
gust of the gale, and in the darkness came the crash of a fallen man,
and Red Roland lay dead in the red glow of his own fire. And as we
stood there, Robin McKelvie came in with the word that the _Gull_ was
battling in the channel.

* * * * * *

And they carried the dead man and laid him decently on his bed.

Behind Robin, the house servants, stout dairymaids from the mainland,
stood awhisper, their sonsy red cheeks pale and mottled with fear, and
among them came the bullock-feeders; for the Red Laird fattened stock
for the mainland markets, and had his own quay, where the carrying
vessels moored in these days, and from the kitchen came the moaning of
old Kate.

"Ochone, ochone, he's gone, the strong one, and I mind me when his back
was like a barn door and the love-locks curling on his brow," and she
came into the chamber wringing pitiful, toil-worn hands, and the
servants after her, ashiver to