She stalked, therefore, with a slow
rather than a swift step, and, holding herself upright,
seemed at once to endure with firmness that
woe which was passed, and bid defiance to that
which was about to come. But when she was beyond
the sight of those who remained in the hut,
she could no longer suppress the extremity of her
agitation. Drawing her mantle wildly round her,
she stopped at the first knoll, and climbing to its
summit, extended her arms up to the bright moon,
as if accusing heaven and earth for her misfortunes,
and uttered scream on scream, like those of an
eagle whose nest has been plundered of her brood.
Awhile she vented her grief in these inarticulate
cries, then rushed on her way with a hasty and
unequal step, in the vain hope of overtaking the
party which was conveying her son a prisoner to
Dunbarton. But her strength, superhuman as it
seemed, failed her in the trial, nor was it possible
for her, with her utmost efforts, to accomplish her
purpose.
Yet she pressed onward, with all the speed which
her exhausted frame could exert. When food became
indispensable, she entered the first cottage;
``Give me to eat,'' she said; ``I am the widow of
MacTavish Mhor---I am the mother of Hamish
MacTavish Bean,---give me to eat, that I may once
more see my fair-haired son.
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