said, ’I wass for two years a herring fish and I wass for four months or three months a broke stone on the road?’ Perhaps the Highlanders are not very clever at picking up another language; but all the same that did not prevent their going to all parts of the world and fighting the battles of other people.  And do you know that in Canada there are descendants of the Highlanders who went there in the last century; and they are proud of their name and their history; and they have swords that were used at Falkirk and Culloden:  but these Macnabs and Mackays, and Camerons, they speak only French!  But I think, if they have Highland blood in them, and if they were to hear the ‘Failte Phrionsa!’ played on the pipes, they would recognize that language.  And why were you asking about Aberdeen?”

“That is not a Highland but a Scotch way of answering my question,” said she, smiling.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said he, hastily; “but indeed I have never been to Aberdeen, and I do not know what it is they speak there; but I should say it was likely to be a mixture of Scotch and English, such as all the big towns have.  I do not think it is a Highland place, like Inverness.”

“Now I will answer your question,” said she.  “I asked you because papa and I propose to go there before returning to England.”  How quickly the light fell from his face!  “The fact is, we have some friends there.”

There was silence.  They all felt that it was for Macleod to speak; and they may have been guessing as to what was passing in his mind.  But to their surprise he said, in almost a gay fashion,—­

“Ah, well, you know they accuse us Highland folk of being rather too importunate as hosts; but we will try not to harass you; and if you have friends in Aberdeen, it would not be fair to beg of you to leave them aside this time.  But surely you are not thinking of going to Aberdeen yet, when it is many a place you have yet to see about here?  I was to take you in the Umpire to Skye; and we had many a talk about the Lewis, too.”

“Thank you very much,” said she, demurely.  “I am sure you have been most kind to us; but—­the fact is—­I think we must leave on Tuesday.”

“On Tuesday!” said he; but it was only for an instant that he winced.  Again he roused himself—­for he was talking in the presence of his mother and the cousin Janet—­“You have not been quite fair to us,” said he cheerfully; “you have not given yourself time to make our acquaintance.  Are you determined to go away as you came—­the Fionaghal?  But then, you know, Fionaghal came and stayed among us before she began to write her songs about the Western Isles; and the next time you come that must be for a longer time, and you will get to know us all better, and we will not frighten you any more by taking you on the sea at night or into the cathedral ruins.  Ah!” said he, with a smile lighting up his face—­but it was a constrained gayety altogether.  “Do I know now why you are hurrying away so soon?  You want to avoid that trip in the Umpire to the island where I used to think I would like my grave to be—­”