he sky seems the shadow of the eagle."

"Mother," said Hamish proudly, "lay not faint heart to my charge. I go
where men are wanted who have strong arms and bold hearts too. I leave a
desert, for a land where I may gather fame."

"And you leave your mother to perish in want, age, and solitude," said
Elspat, essaying successively every means of moving a resolution which
she began to see was more deeply rooted than she had at first thought.

"Not so, neither," he answered; "I leave you to comfort and certainty,
which you have yet never known. Barcaldine's son is made a leader, and
with him I have enrolled myself. MacPhadraick acts for him, and raises
men, and finds his own in doing it."

"That is the truest word of the tale, were all the rest as false as
hell," said the old woman, bitterly.

"But we are to find our good in it also," continued Hamish; "for
Barcaldine is to give you a shieling in his wood of Letter-findreight,
with grass for your goats, and a cow, when you please to have one, on
the common; and my own pay, dearest mother, though I am far away, will
do more than provide you with meal, and with all else you can want. Do
not fear for me. I enter a private gentleman; but I will return, if hard
fighting and regular duty can deserve it, an officer, and with half a
dollar a day."

"Poor child!" replied Elspat, in a tone of pity mingled with contempt,
"and you trust MacPhadraick?"

"I might mother," said Hamish, the dark red colour of his race crossing
his forehead and cheeks, "for MacPhadraick knows the blood which flows
in my veins, and is aware, that should he break trust with you, he might
count the days which could bring Hamish back to Breadalbane, and number
those of his life within three suns more. I would kill him at his own
hearth, did he break his word with me--I would, by the great Being who
made us both!"

The look and attitude of the young soldier for a moment overawed Elspat;
she was unused to see him express a deep and bitter mood, which reminded
her so strongly of his father. But she resumed her remonstrances in the
same taunting manner in which she had commenced them.

"Poor boy!" she said; "and you think that at the distance of half the
world your threats will be heard or thought of! But, go--go--place your
neck under him of Hanover's yoke, against whom every true Gael fought to
the death. Go, disown the royal Stewart, for whom your father, and his
fathers, and your mother's fathers, hav