and, and my words were few
and simple. That took him, for he was always quick to sound the depth of
silent feeling.

"_Mo thruadh! mo thruadh!_ Colin," said he. "My grief! my grief! here
are two brothers closer than by kin, and they have reached a gusset of
life, and there must be separation. I have had many a jolt from my fairy
relatives, but they have never been more wicked than now. I wish you
were with me, and yet, ah! yet----. Would her ladyship, think ye, forget
for a minute, and shake an old friend's hand, and say good-bye?"

I turned to Betty, who stood a little back with her father, and conveyed
his wish. She came forward, dyed crimson to the neck, and stood by his
horse's side. He slid off the saddle and shook her hand.

"It is very good of you," said he. "You have my heart's good wishes to
the innermost chamber."

Then he turned to me, and while the fishermen stood back, he said, "I
envied you twice, Colin--once when you had the foresight of your fortune
on the side of Loch Loven, and now that it seems begun."

He took the saddle, waved his bonnet in farewell to all the company,
then rode quickly up the street and round the castle walls.

It was a day for the open road, and, as we say, for putting the seven
glens and the seven bens and the seven mountain moors below a young
man's feet,--a day with invitation in the air and the promise of gifts
around The mallards at morning had quacked in the Dhuloch pools, the
otter scoured the burn of Maam, the air-goat bleated as he flew among
the reeds, and the stag paused above his shed antlers on Torvil-side to
hide them in the dead bracken.

M'Iver rode beside flowering saugh and alder tree through those old
arches, now no more, those arches that were the outermost posterns
where good-luck allowed farewells. He dare not once look round, and his
closest friends dare not follow him, as he rode alone on the old road
so many of our people have gone to their country's wars or to sporran
battles.

A silence fell upon the community, and in upon it broke from the
river-side the wail of a bagpipe played by the piper of Argile. It
played a tune familiar in those parts upon occasions of parting and
encouragement, a tune they call "Come back to the Glen."

Come back to the glen, to the glen, to the glen,
And there shall the welcome be waiting for you.
The deer and the heath-cock, the curd from the pen,
The blaeberry fresh from the dew!

We saw the