Straight into her startled eyes he looked as he softly added: "The one-time owner of that brooch of yours is here before you! Nay," he cried, for the girl, with a faint exclamation of doubt and dismay, drew her hand away from him, "I will give you proofs of what I say. Let me fill in the gaps in your story for you; and in return I ask but that you look upon me as your servant-your slave, if you will."

Still kneeling, he was about to take her hand again, when there rang through Dunyvaig a wild scream that brought both to their feet.

Earlier in the same evening Sir Angus MacDonald was lying back in his chair in the Long House at Mulindry, with feet stretched out to the fire; and a smile of triumph lighted his eyes as they watched the flames leap up the wide chimney, chasing one another to extinction.

Well might Sir Angus smile, for not only did he hold Sir Lauchlan MacLean and Hector, but he had freed his son James, who had been a hostage. It was over a week since Sir Lauchlan had been lured to Mulindry, and on the walls of the hall there still remained the decorations that had graced the treacherous banquet, at which the MacLeans had been seized when stupefied with drugged wine.

Sir Angus roused himself, sat up and shouted, "Neill !" His ghillie-more entered at the call.

Say to Hugh MacKay that I would speak with the Chief of Clan MacLean, and bid a servant bring wine!"

A cold and haughty look wore Sir Lauchlan MacLean when, for the first time since the banquet, he stood eye to eye with MacDonald, alone, a prisoner with his captor, but with none of a prisoner's bearing. He was unfettered. What need to bind him, surrounded by his enemies? But he was disarmed, and his face grew red when his eyes fell upon his sword and dirk hanging with other weapons above the fire-place between two pairs of branching antlers.

How like you your lodging, MacLean?" Sir Angus began. "Think you MacDonald treats his prisoners well?"

There was a subtle, though perhaps unmeant, arrogance in the question that cut Sir Lauchlan's pride to the quick.

Does the chief of Clan Donald order his prisoners before him but to taunt them?" he asked, then added proudly, "It is safe to sneer at a defenceless man," and he eyed his weapons

anew.

MacDonald, following MacLean's glance, dropped at once his tone of conqueror.

"A word will give you back both sword and liberty. Such a word as you forced from me in Duart dungeon. The Rhinns, man, the Rhinns! You know the word I would have. Say it, and you are free!"

MacLean's lip curled. "Well do I know what you would have me say, but you will never hear that word from me, MacDonald!"

Sir Angus was prepared for this attitude. He did not look to gain his point that night, or indeed to gain it at all without a long struggle. Therefore he answered dispassionately: "It is ill to compel a man, Sir Lauchlan, and ill would it be to have my own brother-in-law prisoned in Dunyvaig, for there the dungeons are worse than those in Duart; but thither I go to-morrow, and whether you come with me or no is for yourself to choose."

He pushed the wine towards Sir Lauchlan. “Come, MacLean! Fill up a cup. 'Twill take away all bitterness." A sudden anger sprang to MacLean's eyes and a flush dyed his face.

"It is sufficient to drink once of MacDonald's wine," he said shortly. "Were all the streams of Islay wine, they could not wash away our cause of quarrel ! ”

"Then blood will!" exclaimed Sir Angus, starting up and confronting his rival threateningly.

Sir Lauchlan MacLean did not flinch.

If it be my blood you mean, it is in your hands to shed. Here are swords enough," and he glanced again at the weapons on the wall," but there are those in Duart who will avenge me. Think you the men of Mull are cowards?"

At that Sir Angus, being the stronger, assumed a patience that he did not feel, and sitting down, strove calmly to persuade MacLean; but he spoke in vain. Sir Lauchlan altered not a whit his haughty bearing.

In the end Sir Angus, choking with suppressed anger, brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table. "Then shall you lie in Dunyvaig, and never see the sun until you yield. Man! your are tempting me to make a summary end of our dispute. One golden eagle to a mountain, MacLean, and there'll be but one chief in Islay, and that one a MacDonald !"

"

'Slay me if you will, Sir Angus," cried MacLean, “but think first on your brother in Mull. Coll MacDonald's blood will follow mine!"

Sir Lauchlan was escorted back to the hut where he and Hector were imprisoned, and MacDonald threw himself back in his chair once more. The interview had roused his temper. Sir Lauchlan's words and, even more than his words, his manner, had heaped material on the smouldering ashes of half-forgotten fires. One touch would set the whole ablaze. Sir Angus fell to brooding fiercely over their quarrel, and he was in such a mood that were the touch applied, no man could say where the conflagration would end.

It was another night of storm. The wind was tearing at the shore with iron fingers, lashing the sea to fury, flail-like; but there was one whose duty did not wait on weather.

On a strong pony a man was riding swift for Mulindry. On, on, he flew, pas lighted farm-houses, splashing through streams, over hill and valley he thundered, devouring the miles, bearing a message for the chief. On, on, as fast as horse could gallop, round the head of Loch Indaal, skirting the woods, then straight for Mulindry, at last in sight of the lights, then up the strath, and horse and rider burst into the courtyard of the Long House.

Into the chief's presence went the man, all but breathless, and flecked with foam like a rider through a snow-drift, with hasty hands producing a letter for MacDonald.

"A boat from Mull brought that to Loch Gruinart," said he.

Sir Angus pointed to the wine, and while the messenger refreshed himself, tore open the missive and read. And then his anger blazed forth.

When heather and bracken are tinder-dry, one spark will cover a whole country-side with flames that rush like a tempestdriven sea, that leap over streams, that know no bounds, and stop for nothing till they burn themselves out.

So with Sir Angus MacDonald. "MacKay !" he roared, rushing to the door. James!"

MacKay !

On the instant the lieutenant and James MacDonald appeared, eager to learn what message the man had carried in such haste. At sight of them Sir Angus, crushing in his hand the letter he had just received, shouted in a voice thick with rage, but loud enough to be heard throughout the house: "Coll is dead. That black traitor, Allen MacLean, has slain him and every MacDonald with him, for my treatment of Sir Lauchlan. Blood for blood! MacLean and all his men in Mulindry shall die!"

CHAPTER XXV

WHAT THE MESSAGE CAUSED

It might have been an hour later that James MacDonald rushed from the Long House calling for his horse, scarce patient enough to wait the saddling, and rode away southward.

Despair was at his heart and scornful words were ringing in his ears, and the night wind, cold though it was and wet, had no soothing for his burning cheeks. He had striven with out success to reason with his father against the fatal resolution he had taken, well knowing that MacLean's death would, sooner or later, recoil upon Sir Angus to his ruin.

On flew his horse through the wild and dismal night, as if he knew that great results were hanging on his efforts-happy chance that kept his feet upon the narrow moorland track and carried him safely through the swollen rivers.

James MacDonald's eyes were straining towards Dunyvaig, where his sisters, ignorant of the new peril that threatened the MacLeans, were still talking of Hector, though to speak of him was but added torment for Ella.

She had resisted all her sister's attempts to wean her mind from dwelling on her lover's woeful plight, and could not be persuaded to seek the rest she so much needed.

Muriel was in a chair before the great peat fire, and Ella sat on a low stool at her feet, and in the background their handmaid, Mary, was engaged upon some needlework.

Ah, Muriel," sighed Ella, were my Hector your lover, you would ere now have found means to help him. You are so brave, so strong, while I ah, what can I do but weep and

pray?"

At this plaintive reproach, a sombre light leapt to the elder girl's dark eyes; but she felt no resentment, only deeper pity for the sister she loved so truly.

"My dear one," she murmured, bending to kiss the fair, troubled brow, "in your heart you know it is not so. Since I have no lover"-why, as she spoke, did the strong dark face and stalwart form of her father's lieutenant rise before her eyes ? Why did his words 'Lady, for your sake, I would risk my life,' sound again in her ears? Was it merely the memory of his trial?" Since I have no lover, I cannot say what my feelings would be were I in your place. But this I do know: You are dearer to me than any man will ever be, and I would give my life for Hector if that could restore him to you."

“Darling, I know it. Forgive your poor Ella. In truth

I am well nigh distraught. Forget my words. Never has poor girl possessed a dearer, more unselfish comforter," and she took her sister's hand and laid her cheek against it.

Muriel knew that Ella was worn out with sorrow and, heedless of her own comfort, forgetful that she herself stood in need of rest almost as much, drew her sister's head down on her lap, and gently began to braid Ella's long hair which, ruddy in the fire light, moved between Muriel's fingers like bands of flame. Then she began to sing very softly a song such as mothers' voice to lull their little ones, and at length Ella, wearied out by wakeful nights and troubled days, drifted into sleep, with her head pillowed on her sister's knees.

Muriel ceased singing and sat quite still, moving neither hand nor foot, lest she might bring the sleeper back to consciousness and the remembrance of her grief, treasuring each moment snatched from sorrow with a love above a miser's for his hoard.

The fire had burned to a deep red glow that made neither splutter nor crackle to mar the silence of the room, and Muriel fell to listening to the sounds that came from remote parts of the castle, where preparations of various kinds were being made for her father's return.

The moments passed, checked by no timepiece, counted only by her weary heart, truer measure of their passage, since time hangs long or flies according as the heart holds tears or laughter. Human joy and human grief set aside and disregard time's arbitrary standards. What is a week when the heart is gay, when friends delight or pleasure charms away the seconds? But, ah! how long an hour is when sorrow presses.

Over the wide fire-place there hung in a rich frame a picture of the Virgin and Child, and Muriel, gazing at it in the flickering light of the candles, seemed to see the smiles come and go upon the pictured faces, and fancied that the eyes of the Blessed Mother rested on her sister and herself with tender, loving glance.

Suddenly a sound, familiar and distinct, struck her ear, and she called softly, "Mary."

'Find out who comes to Dunyvaig so late."

The maid departed on her errand, while Muriel sat with straining ears and eyes fixed upon the doorway.

Soon there came hurried footsteps on the flagged passage outside, and a man, unceremoniously flinging back the curtain, entered.