and both of them followed their master
into the low-arched stone hall, which was the common rendezvous of a
Highland family. A large fire of peats in the huge chimney at the upper
end shed a dim light through the apartment, and was rendered necessary
by the damp, by which, even during the summer, the apartment was
rendered uncomfortable. Twenty or thirty targets, as many claymores,
with dirks, and plaids, and guns, both match-lock and fire-lock, and
long-bows, and cross-bows, and Lochaber axes, and coats of plate armour,
and steel bonnets, and headpieces, and the more ancient haborgeons, or
shirts of reticulated mail, with hood and sleeves corresponding to it,
all hung in confusion about the walls, and would have formed a month's
amusement to a member of a modern antiquarian society. But such things
were too familiar, to attract much observation on the part of the
present spectators.

There was a large clumsy oaken table, which the hasty hospitality of the
domestic who had before spoken, immediately spread with milk, butter,
goat-milk cheese, a flagon of beer, and a flask of usquebae, designed
for the refreshment of Lord Menteith; while an inferior servant made
similar preparations at the bottom of the table for the benefit of his
attendants. The space which intervened between them was, according to
the manners of the times, sufficient distinction between master and
servant, even though the former was, as in the present instance, of high
rank. Meanwhile the guests stood by the fire--the young nobleman under
the chimney, and his servants at some little distance.

"What do you think, Anderson," said the former, "of our
fellow-traveller?"

"A stout fellow," replied Anderson, "if all be good that is upcome.
I wish we had twenty such, to put our Teagues into some sort of
discipline."

"I differ from you, Anderson," said Lord Menteith; "I think this fellow
Dalgetty is one of those horse-leeches, whose appetite for blood being
only sharpened by what he has sucked in foreign countries, he is now
returned to batten upon that of his own. Shame on the pack of these
mercenary swordmen! they have made the name of Scot through all Europe
equivalent to that of a pitiful mercenary, who knows neither honour
nor principle but his month's pay, who transfers his allegiance from
standard to standard, at the pleasure of fortune or the highest bidder;
and to whose insatiable thirst for plunder and warm quarters we owe much
of that civil