y scrap of food he had purloined, making a goodly heap
upon the floor,--the very oaten flour he dusted off his finger-tips,
with which he had handled cake that a little ago he was risking
his soul's salvation to secure. And--except the minister--the other
occupants of the byre were in an equal terror.

For in this matter of smittal plagues we Highlanders are the most arrant
cowards. A man whose life we would save on the field, or the rock-face,
or the sea, at the risk of our own lives or the more abominable peril
of wound and agony, will die in a ditch of the Spotted Death or a fever
before the most valiant of us would put out a hand to cover him again
with his blanket He will get no woman to sound his coronach, even if
he were Lord of the Isles. I am not making defence or admitting blame,
though I have walked in Hamburg when the pitch-barrels blazed in the
street, fuming the putrid wind; but there is in the Gaelic character a
dread of disfiguration more than of sudden and painful death. What we
fear is the black mystery of such disorders: they come on cunning winds
unheralded, in fair weather or bad, day or night, to the rich and to
the poor, to the strong as to the weak. You may be robust to-day in a
smiling country and to-morrow in a twist of agony, coal-black, writhing
on the couch, every fine interest in life blotted out by a yellow film
upon the eyes. A vital gash with a claymore confers a bloodier but a
more comely and natural end. Thus the Gael abhors the very roads that
lead to a plague-struck dwelling. If plagues do not kill, they will
mar--yes, even against the three charms of Island! and that, too, makes
heavier their terror, for a man mutilated even by so little as the loss
of a hand is an object of pity to every hale member of his clan. He may
have won his infirmity in a noble hour, but they will pity him, and pity
to the proud is worse than the glove in the face.

Instantly there was a great to-do in getting away from this most
unfortunate dwelling. The lads in the byre shook tartan and out to the
fresh air, and rejoiced in the wind with deep-drawn gulping breaths,
as if they might wash the smallest dust of disease from their bodily
systems. So at last only M'Iver and I were left standing at the door.

"Well," said John, with an effort, "we must be going. I never thought
it was so late. And we must be on the other side of Dalness before
very long. You have been very good to us, and my name's John M'I ver