an have been at war for hundreds of years
with Ben-na-Groich. He will probably lead a foray upon the new chief
and carry off his sister."

"Gracious! how old is this Fash-na-Cairn?"

"About five-and-twenty. He has buried his fifteenth wife. They seldom
live more than three months."

"Oh, Jane! Jane! we're lost--ruined--murdered! Waiter, _I'm_ the
sister of Ben-na-Groich, the victim of Fash-na-Cairn!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I've alarmed you; but, perhaps, the friends of the clan
may gather round Ben-na-Groich, and succeed in capturing
Fash-na-Cairn."

"And what then?" inquired Miss Alice, with a glimpse of hope.

"Oh, then, it is the universal custom for the next in blood of the
chieftain, if she be unmarried, to cut off a finger of the prisoner
every day with an old hereditary hatchet kept for that purpose, till
he relents, and offers to make her his bride. If he does so before he
has lost the fingers of both hands, the feud is at an end."

Miss Alice shuddered at the thoughts of cutting off a young man's
fingers.

"Oh, waiter, this is dreadful news! I'm certain my poor brother knew
nothing of this when he purchased that horrible property. And what
will they do to _him_ if the furry succeeds?"

"Tie him up in a wolf's skin, and hunt him to death with bloodhounds."

"My poor brother, my poor brother! And he so fat, and subject to the
gout! But it's quite true--it's exactly what they did to the Bohemian
in _Quentin Durward_."

"The present Fash-na-Cairn is a descendant of Le Balafre."

"Oh, the monster! Have they no police at Ben-na-Groich, nor even
special constables?--no justice of peace?"

"The only justice there is the dirk and claymore. But the young lady
seems revived now. Do you take supper? I'll send the chambermaid
directly, ma'am."

When the historical and veracious waiter left the room, the long and
stately figure of Miss Alice sank slowly down upon the sofa. Jane
Somers's face was buried in her hands, and, by the tremors that ran
through her whole frame, and the redness of what was visible of her
cheeks and neck, it was evident that she was nearly in convulsions
with some powerfully suppressed feeling. The aunt, of course,
considered it to be the result of terror, whatever sager guess the
reader may make upon the subject, and gave way to a fit of dolorous
lamentation, that did not much contribute to her niece's recovery.

"This comes of pride, and being one of the Scottish chiefs! To be
eaten up b