centred in the
organ. She sits with half-closed eyes, her body swaying a little
from side to side to the rhythm of the hymn. Her fingers move
faster and faster and she is playing wildly and discordantly as
the Curtain falls._)

CAMPBELL OF KILMHOR[1]

J.A. Ferguson

[Footnote 1: Included by special permission of the publishers,
Messrs. Gowans and Gray, Glasgow.]

CHARACTERS

MARY STEWART
MORAG CAMERON
DUGALD STEWART
CAPTAIN SANDEMAN
ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL
JAMES MACKENZIE

SCENE: _Interior of a lonely cottage on the road from Struan to
Rannoch in North Perthshire._

TIME: _After the Rising of 1745._

MORAG _is restlessly moving backwards and forwards. The old woman
is seated on a low stool beside the peat fire in the centre of
the floor._

_The room is scantily furnished and the women are poorly clad.
MORAG is barefooted. At the back is the door that leads to the
outside. On the left of the door is a small window. On the right
side of the room there is a door that opens into a barn. MORAG
stands for a moment at the window, looking out._

MORAG. It is the wild night outside.

MARY STEWART. Is the snow still coming down?

MORAG. It is that, then--dancing and swirling with the wind too,
and never stopping at all. Aye, and so black I cannot see the
other side of the road.

MARY STEWART. That is good.

(MORAG _moves across the floor and stops irresolutely. She is
restless, expectant._)

MORAG. Will I be putting the light in the window?

MARY STEWART. Why should you be doing that? You have not heard
his call (_turns eagerly_), have you?

MORAG (_with sign of head_). No, but the light in the window would
show him all is well.

MARY STEWART. It would not, then! The light was to be put there
_after_ we had heard the signal.

MORAG. But on a night like this he may have been calling for long
and we never hear him.

MARY STEWART. Do not be so anxious, Morag. Keep to what he says.
Put more peat on the fire now and sit down.

MORAG (_with increasing excitement_). I canna, I canna! There is
that in me that tells me something is going to befall us this
night. Oh, that wind! Hear to it, sobbing round the house as if
it brought some poor lost soul up to the door, and we refusing it
shelter.

MARY STEWART. Do not be fretting yourself like that. Do as I bid
you. Put more peats to the fire.

MORAG (_at the wicker peat-basket_). Never since I.... What was
that?

(_Both listen for a moment._)