and commotion and looking out on the vacant marsh-land
outside. Suddenly and completely the noise ceased below, and the child
seized her opportunity and crept downstairs. All was still in the big
living-room, only in the dim recess of the fireplace the old lord was
sitting, a silent, brooding figure, in his deep armchair. The rest of
the household, men and women, gentle and simple, were all crowded in the
doorway, breathlessly intent on something outside. Threading her way
through them the child crept outside the circle and looked eagerly to
see what this might be. Across the grey marshes horsemen were riding,
riding fast, though the horses strained and stumbled, and the riders had
a weary, dispirited air. 'It is the fairies' was the idea that flashed
through her brain, and in a moment she was holding her eyelids open with
her fingers, for she knew that the 'good people,' if they do show
themselves, are only visible between one winking of the eyes and
another. But this vision did not pass away, and surely never were fairy
knights in such a sorry plight as was this travel-stained, dishevelled
company that drew rein at the door of Gortuleg.

The leader of the band was a young man in Highland dress, tall and fair,
and with that 'air' of which his followers fondly complained afterwards
that no disguise could conceal it. At the sight of him, arriving in this
plight at their doors, a great cry of consternation broke from the
assembled household. There was no need to tell the terrible news: the
Prince was a fugitive, a battle had been lost, and the good cause was
for ever undone! It was no time for idle grieving, immediate relief and
refreshment must be provided, and the Prince sent forward without delay
on his perilous flight. The ladies tore off their laces and
handkerchiefs to bind up wounds, and wine was brought out for the
fugitives. There is no certain account of Charles's interview with Lord
Lovat; we do not know whether the cunning old man turned and upbraided
the Prince in his misfortune, or whether the instincts of a Highland
gentleman overcame for a moment the selfishness of the old chief.
Anyway, this was no time to bandy either upbraidings or compliments.
Forty minutes of desperate fighting on the field of Culloden that
morning had broken for ever the strength of the Jacobite cause. Hundreds
lay dead where they fell, hundreds were prisoners in the hands of the
most relentless of enemies, hundreds were fleeing in d