s not
to be baulked of his share of the danger and glory of serving the
Prince, and vowed that he _would_ go even if it should cost him his
estate and his head. So with two stout faithful boatmen they arrived
within a mile of Portree, drew up their boat among the rocks where it
could be hid, and remained waiting for the Prince, while the night fell
and the rain came down in sheets.

It had been arranged at Mugstatt that Donald Roy was to meet the Prince
late on Monday afternoon in the one public-house that Portree could
boast. This public-house consisted of one large, dirty, smoky room, and
people of all kinds kept going in and out, and here Donald took up his
post. Flora Macdonald was the first to arrive, and she, Donald Roy, and
Malcolm MacLeod sat together over the fire waiting anxiously. It was
already dark when a small, wet herd-boy slipped in and going up to
Donald whispered that a gentleman wanted to see him. The poor Prince was
standing in the darkness outside drenched to the skin. As soon as they
were at the inn Donald insisted on his changing his clothes, and Malcolm
at once gave him his own dry philibeg. Food they could get, and water
was brought in an old, battered, rusty tin from which the Prince drank,
being afraid of arousing suspicion by any fastidiousness. He also bought
sixpennyworth of the coarsest tobacco, and nearly betrayed his quality
to the already suspicious landlord by a princely indifference to his
change, but Malcolm prudently secured the 'bawbees' and put them into
the Prince's sporran.

Miss Flora now rose very sadly to go, as she had to continue her journey
that night. The Prince kissed her and said farewell with much suppressed
emotion, but with his usual hopefulness added that he trusted that they
might yet meet at St. James's. These constant partings from so many
faithful, warm-hearted friends were among the hardest trials of
Charles's wandering life. He seems to have clung with special affection
to Donald Roy, and urged him again and again not to leave him, but to go
with him to Rasay. Donald could only reply that the state of his wounded
foot made it impossible.

This conversation took place as they plunged through wet and darkness
from Portree down to the shore where the boat was lying. Malcolm
MacLeod, who made a third in the little party, had a spirit as firm and
a heart as warm as Donald's own, and before the end of the week the
Prince was clinging with the same affection to th