d was wholly engrossed by the sense of injury--injury sustained from
a friend, and by the desire of vengeance on one whom he now accounted
his most bitter enemy. The treasured ideas of self-importance and
self-opinion--of ideal birth and quality, had become more precious to
him, like the hoard to the miser, because he could only enjoy them in
secret. But that hoard was pillaged; the idols which he had secretly
worshipped had been desecrated and profane. Insulted, abused, and
beaten, he was no longer worthy, in his own opinion, of the name he
bore, or the lineage which he belonged to; nothing was left to
him--nothing but revenge; and, as the reflection added a galling spur
to every step, he determined it should be as sudden and signal as the
offence.

When Robin Oig left the door of the alehouse, seven or eight English
miles at least lay betwixt Morrison and him. The advance of the former
was slow, limited by the sluggish pace of his cattle; the last left
behind him stubble-field and hedgerow, crag and dark heath, all
glittering with frost-rime in the broad November moonlight, at the rate
of six miles an hour. And now the distant lowing of Morrison's cattle
is heard; and now they are seen creeping like moles in size and
slowness of motion on the broad face of the moor; and now he meets
them, passes them, and stops their conductor.

"May good betide us," said the Southlander. "Is this you, Robin
M'Combich, or your wraith?"

"It is Robin Oig M'Combich," answered the Highlander, "and it is not.
But never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu."

"What! you are for back to the Highlands. The devil! Have yon selt
all off before the fair? This beats all for quick markets."

"I have not sold--I am not going north. May pe I will never go north
again. Give me pack my dirk, Hugh Morrison, or there will pe words
petween us."

"Indeed, Robin, I'll be better advised before I gie it back to you; it
is a wanchancy weapon in a Highlandman's hand, and I am thinking you
will be about some barns-breaking."

"Prutt, trutt! let me have my weapon," said Robin Oig, impatiently.

"Hooly and fairly," said his well-meaning friend. "I'll tell you what
will do better than these dirking doings. Ye ken Highlander, and
Lowlander, and Bordermen are a' ae man's bairns when you are over the
Scots dyke. See, the Eskdale callants, and fighting Charlie of
Liddesdale, and the Lockerby lads, and the four Dandies of Lustruther,
and a