"Think no more of it" said her lover in a cheerful tone. "We have hope
yet."

"Alas, there is no hope. Even this day my father hath fixed the time
for--to me--this dreaded wedding? And thou Hugh, let this be our last
meeting--_Mar tha mi!_ our last in the world. Wert thou caught by
Inverinate, he so hates thee, he would have thy life by the foulest
means."

"Fear not for that dearest. And this bridal! Listen May, before that
happen the eagle will swoop down and bear thee away to his free
mountains, amid their sunny glens and bosky woods, to love thee darling
as no other mortal, and certainly none of the Clan-'ic-Rathmhearlaich
has heart to do."

"Ah me!" sighed May, "would that it could be so. I cannot leave my
father until all other hope is gone, and yet I fear if I do not we are
fated to be parted. Even this may be the last time we may meet. I warn
thee, Hugh, I am well watched, and I beg you will be careful. Hush! was
that a footfall in the grove below the crag?" and she pointed to a clump
of trees at some distance under where they were standing, and on the
path by which he would return.

"By my troth it may be so," said he. "Better, dear May, retire to your
chamber and I shall remain here till you bid me good night from your
window."

Again they listened, and again the rustling met their ears distinctly.
It ceased, and the maiden bidding her mountain lover a fond good night,
ascended to her chamber, while he disdaining to be frightened away by
sound, moved to his former position below the alder tree. Seating
himself at its root, with his eyes fixed on the window, in a voice low
but distinct, he sang to one of the sweet sad lays of long ago, a ditty
to his mistress, of which the following paraphrase will convey an
idea:--

"Oh darling May, my promised bride,
List to my love--come fly with me,
Where down the dark Ben Wyvis side
The torrent dashes wild and free.
O'er sunny glen and forest brake;
O'er meadow green and mountain grand;
O'er rocky gorge and gleaming lake--
Come,--reign, the lady of the land.

Come cheer my lonely mountain home,
Where gleams the lake, where rills dance bright;
Where flowers bloom fair--come dearest come
And light my dark and starless night.
One witching gleam from thy bright eye
Can change to halls of joy my home!
One song, one softly uttered sigh,
Can cheer my