returned Fergus. "He wouldn't open his mouth to
tell his name, or where he came from even. I couldn't get him to
utter a single word. As for his punishment, it was by the laird's
orders that Angus Mac Pholp took the whip to him. I had nothing to
do with it.--" Fergus did not consider the punishment he had himself
given him as worth mentioning--as indeed, except for honesty's sake,
it was not, beside the other.

"Weel, I'll be a man some day, an' Angus 'll hae to sattle wi' me!"
said Donal through his clenched teeth. "Man, Fergus! the cratur's as
dumb's a worum. I dinna believe 'at ever he spak a word in's life."

This cut Fergus to the heart, for he was far from being without
generosity or pity. How many things a man who is not awake to side
strenuously with the good in him against the evil, who is not on his
guard lest himself should mislead himself, may do, of which he will
one day be bitterly ashamed!--a trite remark, it may be, but,
reader, that will make the thing itself no easier to bear, should
you ever come to know you have done a thing of the sort. I fear,
however, from what I know of Fergus afterwards, that he now, instead
of seeking about to make some amends, turned the strength that
should have gone in that direction, to the justifying of himself to
himself in what he had done. Anyhow, he was far too proud to
confess to Donal that he had done wrong--too much offended at being
rebuked by one he counted so immeasurably his inferior, to do the
right thing his rebuke set before him. What did the mighty business
matter! The little rascal was nothing but a tramp; and if he didn't
deserve his punishment this time, he had deserved it a hundred times
without having it, and would ten thousand times again. So reasoned
Fergus, while the feeling grew upon Donal that the cratur was of
some superior race--came from some other and nobler world. I would
remind my reader that Donal was a Celt, with a nature open to every
fancy of love or awe--one of the same breed with the foolish
Galatians, and like them ready to be bewitched; but bearing a heart
that welcomed the light with glad rebound--loved the lovely, nor
loved it only, but turned towards it with desire to become like it.
Fergus too was a Celt in the main, but was spoiled by the paltry
ambition of being distinguished. He was not in love with
loveliness, but in love with praise. He saw not a little of what
was good and noble, and would fain be such, b