mong all the stout Highland hearts which
were ready to risk everything for him, Charles never found one more
brave and pitiful than that of the girl who was introduced to him in
this strange and perilous situation.

The plan was at once proposed to her that she should convey the Prince
with her to Skye disguised in female attire as her maid. Flora was no
mere romantic miss, eager for adventure and carried away by her
feelings. She was quite aware of the danger she would bring on herself,
and more especially on her friends, by this course. It was with some
reluctance that she at last gave her consent, but once her word was
pledged she was ready to go to the death if need were, and threw all her
feminine ingenuity into carrying out the scheme. They arranged that she
was to go next day to consult with Lady Clanranald and to procure
feminine attire as a disguise for the Prince. As soon as all was
prepared they were to meet at Rossinish in Benbecula; in the meantime
O'Neal undertook to come and go between the Prince and Miss Macdonald to
report progress and convey messages.

The two men seem to have returned to a hiding-place in the neighbourhood
of Glencoridale, and Miss Flora returned to Milton. She had to pass one
of the narrow sea fords next day on her way to Ormaclade, the
Clanranalds' house; this ford was guarded by a body of militia, and
having no passport, she and her servant, Neil MacKechan, were taken
prisoners. The situation was awkward in the extreme, and every hour's
delay was an added danger. To her great relief she learned that the
officer in command, who was expected that morning, was her stepfather,
Mr. Hugh Macdonald. On his arrival he was (or affected to be) extremely
surprised to find his stepdaughter a prisoner in the guard-room; but
with a complaisance very remarkable in an officer of the Government, he
drew her out passports for herself, for her servant Neil, and for a new
Irish servant, Betty Burke, whom she desired to take with her to Skye.
So great was Macdonald's interest in this unknown Betty that he actually
wrote a letter to his wife in Skye recommending the girl.

'I have sent your daughter from this country,' he wrote, 'lest she
should be frightened by the troops lying here. She has got one Betty
Burke, an Irish girl, who, she tells me, is a good spinster. If her
spinning pleases you, you may keep her till she spins all your lint.' In
spite of the gravity of the situation, one cannot help th