know, that they are not Macleods.
Mull is the country of the Macleans; and the Macleans and the Macleods
had their fights in former times. There is a cave they will show you
round the point from _Ru na Gaul_ lighthouse that is called
_Uamh-na-Ceann_--that is, the Cavern of the Skulls--where the Macleods
murdered fifty of the Macleans, though Alastair Crotach, the humpbacked
son of Macleod, was himself killed."

"I beg your pardon, Major Stuart," said Miss Carry, with a grand
stateliness in her tone, "but will you allow me to ask if this is true?
It is a passage I saw quoted in a book the other day, and I copied it
out. It says something about the character of the people you are talking
about."

She handed him the bit of paper; and he read these words: _"Trew it is,
that thir Ilandish men ar of nature verie prowd, suspicious, avaricious,
full of decept and evill inventioun each aganis his nychtbour, be what
way soever he may circumvin him. Besydis all this, they ar sa crewall in
taking of revenge that nather have they regard to person, eage, tyme, or
caus; sa ar they generallie all sa far addictit to thair awin ty
rannicall opinions that, in all respects, they exceed in creweltie the
maist barbarous people that ever hes bene sen the begynning of the
warld."_

"Upon my word," said the honest major, "it is a most formidable
indictment. You had better ask Sir Keith about it."

He handed the paper across the table; Macleod read it, and burst out
laughing.

"It is too true, Carry," said he. "We are a dreadful lot of people up
there among the hills. Nothing but murder and rapine from morning till
night."

"I was telling him this morning he would probably be hanged," observed
the major, gravely.

"For what?" Miss White asked.

"Oh," said the major, carelessly, "I did not specify the offence.
Cattle-lifting, probably."

Miss Carry's fierce onslaught was thus laughed away, and they proceeded
to other matters; the major meanwhile not failing to remark that this
luncheon differed considerably from the bread and cheese and glass of
whiskey of a shooting-day in Mull. Then they returned to the
drawing-room, and had tea there, and some further talk. The major had by
this time quite abandoned his critical and observant attitude. He had
succumbed to the enchantress. He was ready to declare that Gertrude
White was the most fascinating woman he had ever met, while, as a matter
of fact, she had been rather timidly making sugges