But that hoard
was pillaged, the idols which he had secretly worshipped
had been desecrated and profaned. 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
hedge-row, 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.
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