d so
as to reach the bottom. No; too late. I'll go home, and send the
keeper for it in the morning. The eagle may have picked its bones by
that time, to be sure; but after all, a raven is not much of a trophy."

While he was thus debating, a very different scene was taking place
below.

Barret had been gazing up at the eagle when the shot was fired. He saw
the spout of smoke. He heard the crashing shot and echoes, and beheld
the eagle descending like a thunder-bolt. After that he saw and heard
no more, for, in reaching forward to see round a projecting rock that
interfered with his vision, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong from
the cliff. He had not far to fall, indeed, and a whin bush broke the
force of the shock when he did strike; but he was rendered insensible,
and rolled down the remainder of the slope to the bottom. There he lay
bruised, bleeding, and motionless on the grass, close to the road, with
his bent and broken gun beneath him, and the dead eagle not more than a
dozen yards from his side!

"It is not like Barret to be late," observed the laird that evening, as
he consulted his watch. "He is punctuality itself, as a rule. He must
have fallen in with some unusually interesting plants. But we can't
wait. Order dinner, my dear, for I'm sure that my sister must be very
hungry after her voyage."

"Indeed I am," returned the little old lady, with a peculiar smile.
"Sea-sickness is the best tonic I know of, but it is an awful medicine
to take."

"Almost as good as mountain air," remarked MacRummle, as they filed out
of the drawing-room. "I do wish I had managed to bring that raven
home."

At first the party at dinner was as merry as usual. The sportsmen were
graphic in recounting the various incidents of the day; Mrs Moss was
equally graphic on the horrors of the sea; MacRummle was eulogistic of
repeating rifles, and inclined to be boastful about the raven, which he
hoped to show them on the morrow, while Milly proved herself, as usual,
a beautiful and interested listener, as well as a most hearty laugher.

But as the feast went on they became less noisy. Then a feeling of
uneasiness manifested itself, but no one ventured to suggest that
anything might have occurred to the absentee until the evening had
deepened into night. Then the laird started up suddenly. "Something
_must_ have happened to our friend," he exclaimed, at the same time
ringing the bell violently. "He has never been