e been a novelty in itself sufficient to
terrify those who had never seen anything more nearly resembling such
a cavalier, than a SHELTY waddling under a Highlander far bigger than
itself. The repulsed Royalists returned to the charge; the Irish,
keeping their ranks, maintained a fire equally close and destructive.
There was no sustaining the fight longer. Argyle's followers began
to break and fly, most towards the lake, the remainder in different
directions. The defeat of the right wing, of itself decisive, was
rendered irreparable by the death of Auchenbreck, who fell while
endeavouring to restore order.

The Knight of Ardenvohr, with two or three hundred men, all gentlemen of
descent and distinguished gallantry,--for the Campbells are supposed to
have had more gentlemen in their ranks than any of the Highland clans,
endeavoured, with unavailing heroism, to cover the tumultuary retreat
of the common file. Their resolution only proved fatal to themselves,
as they were charged again and again by fresh adversaries, and forced to
separate from each other, until at length their aim seemed only to be to
purchase an honourable death by resisting to the very last.

"Good quarter, Sir Duncan," called out Major Dalgetty, when he
discovered his late host, with one or two others, defending himself
against several Highlanders; and, to enforce his offer, he rode up to
him with his sword uplifted. Sir Duncan's reply was the discharge of a
reserved pistol, which took effect not on the person of the rider, but
on that of his gallant horse, which, shot through the heart, fell dead
under him. Ranald MacEagh, who was one of those who had been pressing
Sir Duncan hard, took the opportunity to cut him down with his
broadsword, as he turned from him in the act of firing the pistol.

Allan M'Aulay came up at this moment. They were, excepting Ranald,
followers of his brother who were engaged on that part of the field,
"Villains!" he said, "which of you has dared to do this, when it was my
positive order that the Knight of Ardenvohr should be taken alive?"

Half-a-dozen of busy hands, which were emulously employed in plundering
the fallen knight, whose arms and accoutrements were of a magnificence
befitting his quality, instantly forbore the occupation, and half the
number of voices exculpated themselves, by laying the blame on the
Skyeman, as they called Ranald MacEagh.

"Dog of an Islander!" said Allan, forgetting, in his wrath, their
p