He stopped short, for Kenneth flushed up.

"Oh, come, Maxy, that's too bad. Don't insult my father by saying things in that underhanded way. My father doesn't owe money, I'm sure."

Max felt uncomfortable, for he had an undefined feeling that there was something very wrong, but it was all misty and confused.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Ken," he said.

"Then you shouldn't. There, never mind. Hi, Long Shon, come and help carry this old spar."

"She ton't want any one to help her carry ta bit o' wud," said Tavish contemptuously. "She could pitch it like ta caber."

He raised himself to his full height, as he strode towards the gateway where the spar lay. Then, stooping down, he lifted one end and rested it upon his shoulder, after which he kept on hitching it up and getting farther under till he had reached the middle, when he grasped it with both hands firmly, took a step back, and the far end rose slowly from the ground, the spar swaying in equilibrium slowly up and down as the great fellow stood firm till it was at rest, and perfectly horizontal, when he strode slowly and steadily toward the gate and went through into the yard.

"There, Maxy, talk about a Samson!" cried Kenneth; "what do you think of that?"

"I'd give something to be as strong," said Max, as he ran into the courtyard, followed by Kenneth, the two boys applauding loudly as Tavish gave himself a jerk, leaped aside, and the spar fell with a clang which echoed from the ruined walls.

"She's chust a wee pit heavy, Maister Ken," said Tavish, pa.s.sing his arm across his brow, "and she wadna like to carry ta pit o' wood to Falkirk."

"Ta Chief--ta Chief!" shouted Scoodrach, coming running in through the gate.

"What! my father?" cried Kenneth, flushing up. "I say, Maxy, what will he say? Where is he, Scoody?"

"Chust here on ta pony," whispered the lad, with his eyes wide; and he looked round for a way to escape, as if he had a p.r.i.c.king of conscience as to what had been going on.

"Take the pony and rub him down. I've ridden hard. Where's Mr Kenneth?" came from outside.

The voice sounded very harsh and stern, so much so that Kenneth shrank from meeting him, but it was only for a moment.

"I'm here, father," he cried, and he went out, followed closely by Max,--who felt that he had no business to go, but that if he stayed back, it would be like leaving his friend in the lurch.

"Oh, there you are--both of you," said The Mackhai sternly; and Max noted that he was deadly pale, while the veins in his temples were swollen, and looked like a network right round to the front of his brow.

"Yes, father, here we are--both of us," said Kenneth, unconsciously repeating his father's form of expression.

"Then perhaps, sir, you will explain to me what is the meaning of that piece of tomfoolery?"

The Mackhai was evidently greatly agitated, and fighting down his anger, as he spoke in a cold, cutting tone, and pointed upward to the ruined battlements.

Kenneth and Max had both forgotten it till they glanced up, and saw the dining-room table-cover floating from the spear staff in the wind.

"That, father?" cried Kenneth, forcing a laugh, while Max felt a strange desire to beat a retreat; "that's the banner of the Mackhais."

"No fooling, sir, at a time like this," cried The Mackhai, so fiercely that his son turned pale. "And now please explain what's all this I have just learned on the way, about a party of men coming here, and there being a desperate fight. Is this true?"

"Well, there has been a fight, father. I don't know about desperate."

"Not desperate, sir! when I found two men on the road, one bruised and battered about so that he can't see out of his eyes, and his face all blood-smeared, while the other is lamed, and can hardly walk."

"Well, sir," said Kenneth boldly, "a pack of scoundrels came here with a c.o.c.k-and-bull story about taking possession of Dunroe; and as you were out, and I knew it must be some trick, I called our people together, shut the gates, set them at defiance, and--there was a fight, and we beat 'em off."

A flush of pride came across The Mackhai's face, and a bright look fell upon his son, but they pa.s.sed away directly, and he continued, with lowering brow.

"And you have done this, sir?" he said sternly; "and you," he added, turning sharply upon Max,--"you knew better than this stupid country boor of a boy. Why didn't you stop him?"

"I did not think of doing so, sir," said Max, hesitating; and then, speaking out firmly, "I helped him, and did my best to beat the people off. I'm afraid I was worse than he."

"What?" cried The Mackhai; "you did?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

The Mackhai burst into a wild, discordant laugh.

"You did?" he repeated mockingly. "You helped to beat off these scoundrels of the law?"

"Yes, sir."

Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a doubt on his friend's pluck.

"Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better."

"This is most delicious!" cried The Mackhai mockingly. "You, Maximilian Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?"

"I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might," said Max warmly. "I'm sorry if I've done wrong. Don't be angry with Kenneth, sir. I'm sure he meant to do what was right."

"Right!" cried the Mackhai. "You young idiots, you don't know what you've done,--you do not, Kenneth. As for you, you young viper, are you as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and--"

"Mackhai! Mackhai!" yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard from the house. "Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been and cot ta poat, and they've landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house."

"What!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Come on, father. Oh, why didn't I put a sentry there?"

Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father's words, he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his father clapped his hand upon his shoulder.

"Stop!" he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to proclaim the ruin of the new.

"Mr Mackhai," he said sharply, as he presented a slip of paper, "in the Queen's name I take possession here--suit of Mr Andrew Blande, Lincoln's Inn, London."

"What!" cried Max, whose jaw dropped as he grasped the state of affairs.

"It is a lie! my father would not do such a thing."

"Your cursed father, sir, would do anything that is mean and base--even to sending you down here to be a spy upon us, till he could tie the last knot in the miserable net he has thrown around me."

"Oh, Max!" cried Kenneth, as his face flushed, and then turned pale.

"Be a man, my boy," said his father sternly. "Recollect that you are a Mackhai. Let this legal robber take all; let him and his son enjoy their prize. Ken, my boy, my folly has made a beggar of you. I have lost all now, but one thing. I am still a gentleman of a good old race.

He cannot rob me of that. Come."

He walked proudly through the archway into the house with his son, and the rest followed, leaving Max Blande standing alone in the old courtyard, staring wildly before him, till he started as if stung. For all at once a jackdaw on the inner part of one of the towers uttered what sounded to him a mocking, jeering--