The wafting away of the mist seemed to relieve him of a good deal of the confusion, and, weary though he was, he found himself able to distinguish his way, and creep along the pebbly margin of the black loch, which lay so still and solemn beneath the starry sky.

All at once, after about an hour's laborious tramp down the weird glen, with its wild crags, black as ink, towering up to right and left, he suddenly caught sight of a gleam of light, and it struck him that he had come near to the mouth of the glen, and that he could see a star low down on the horizon.

The light was to his left, and the place was so horribly oppressive, with the deep black lake on his right and the roar of water rapidly growing louder, that he gladly struck off, as he felt, to where the gorge bore round, or, as he soon made out, divided.

This led him away from the black lake, and he soon found that he was scrambling along the bed of a little stream, which came, as it were, straight from the low down star.

Then, as he walked on what grew to be a more and more painful track, it struck him that it was strange that he could only see one star in that opening.

A few minutes later, he fancied he could make out towering crags above it, and that all was black darkness where he ought to be seeing more light; and then he dropped suddenly upon his knees in the joy of his heart, for there could be no mistake about the matter: it was not a star which he could see, but a light, and, rising once more, he forgot weariness, soreness, and pain, and began to tramp slowly on toward the light.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT.

There were moments when Max began to feel doubtful; others when he fancied it might be some deceptive marsh light; and then a great despair came upon him, for, just as he had come to the hopeful conclusion that there really was a cottage in the glen, where he could find rest, and warmth, and food, the light suddenly disappeared, and he was in a darkness which seemed to be, from the overshadowing mountains, even deeper than the darkness of the mist.

That was but the fancy of the moment, for the stars gave him light enough to slowly continue his way, but he stopped and hesitated as to whether he should go on or go back.

The way along the edge of the loch was easy, and seemed to lead toward the entrance of the glen. This side branch grew more difficult at every step, and, as the light had disappeared, he felt it would be better to go back, and he began to descend the rough way among the stones in the bed of the stream, when, turning one of these, he happened to look back, and there was the light burning clearly once more.

That was no marsh light, it was too clear and glowing, and, feeling convinced now that it had only been hidden by some turn of the ravine or interposing stone, he once more began to ascend the streamlet, till the light, which he watched intently, suddenly again disappeared.

He stopped short and stepped back a couple of paces, when the light reappeared; and, seeing that he was right, he pressed on, with the result that at the end of a few minutes there was the light again.

Twice over it disappeared as he stumbled onward, but there it was again, and growing so much plainer as he drew nearer, that it gradually took the form of fire shining through an open door.

Convinced that it was either a little country inn or the home of some shepherd, Max's hopes rose, and he stumbled on, hoping every minute to come upon a path which should lead up to the door.

But he hoped in vain, though he had one satisfaction, that of seeing the shape of a doorway quite plainly, and the flickering of a fire, which some one must be in the act of stirring.

Directly after he saw the doorway darkened, as if somebody had pa.s.sed out, and his lips parted to call for guidance to the place, when he heard a movement behind him, and, turning sharply, there was another sound, as if a stone had fallen.

This made him turn round again toward the light, when, quick as thought, something thick was thrown over his head and drawn close, a pair of sinewy arms dashed his to his sides; he was drawn backward; some one seized his legs, and, in spite of his straggles, he was lifted from the ground, and two men seemed to be carrying him over a rugged way, now up, now down.

He shouted and begged as well as his half-suffocated state would allow, for the covering to be taken from his head, but the only response he obtained was an angry shake and a tighter clasp of the arms about his legs.

All at once he could see red light glowing through the great woollen cloth which covered him, and he felt that he was thrown on the ground, and that some one was binding his legs together. Directly after, his arms were bound behind his back, he was placed in a sitting posture, and the cloth was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his head.

The glowing light of a fire shone right into his eyes, dazzling them, so that for some few moments he could make out nothing but the fact that he was in a stone-built hut, before a fierce fire, and that two fierce-looking bearded men were glaring at him.

Before he could collect himself to speak, some one shouted from outside, and one of his captors replied, but the Gaelic words were quite unintelligible to the prisoner, as was also the conversation which ensued between the two men before him, though it was apparent that one was urging the other to do something from which he shrank.

"Hwhat will she want?" said the latter at last, in a harsh voice.

"I've lost my way in the mountains," said Max. "I'm tired and cold and hungry. Please undo this rope; it hurts."

The man who had not spoken said something now to Max's questioner, and it seemed that the words which had pa.s.sed were translated, with the result that he burst into a torrent of harsh-sounding speech, apparently full of dissent.

This seemed to be the case, for the one who tried to speak English exclaimed sharply,--

"She shall tell her a lee."

"I--I don't understand you," said Max.

"She came along wi' ta exciseman."

"No," said Max. "I came quite alone."

"Sa.s.senach" was the only word which Max could make out in the dialogue which followed, and this was at its height when a third fierce-looking man came in, and the three laid their heads together, glancing toward the door uneasily, and then at what seemed to be a great copper boiling over the fire.

As they stood together, with the ruddy glow playing upon their fierce countenances, it seemed to Max that he must have fallen into the hands of Scottish freebooters, and the next thing he felt was that he should be robbed and murdered, or the operations be performed in reverse fashion.

The men's appearance was wild enough to have excited dread in one of stouter nerves than Max Blande, who, faint and exhausted, lay there in so helpless a plight that he was not in a condition to do more than anxiously watch his captors, as they talked loudly in Gaelic and gesticulated angrily.

To Max it seemed as if they were debating how he should be done to death; and, in spite of the horror of the thought, he was so stunned, as it were, his feelings were so deadened, that he did not feel the acute dread that might have been expected. There was almost as much curiosity in his feelings as fear, and he began at last to wonder why they did not take his watch and chain, purse and pocket-book, both of which latter were fairly well filled--his father having been generous to him when he started upon his journey, and there having been absolutely no means of spending money at Dunroe.

The debate grew more and more angry, the men evidently quarrelling fiercely, but not a word could Max make out. Their actions, however, seemed plain enough, as they all turned their eyes fiercely upon him, and the effect was peculiar, for the ruddy firelight was reflected from them, so that they seemed to glow as they suddenly made a dart at him, two of the men dragging him unresisting to his feet, while the third, before he could grasp his intention, flung the dingy old plaid which had m.u.f.fled him before, over his head, twisting it tightly about his throat.

Max uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry, but it was smothered directly, and he gave himself up for lost, as he was seized once more and hurried out into the darkness. This much he knew by the absence of the light dimly shining through the coa.r.s.e woollen fabric which covered his head.

He was carried in this way for quite a quarter of an hour. Sometimes they were going upwards and sometimes downwards; while he could gather that the way chosen was terribly rough, from the manner in which he was jerked about.

This went on till a dull sound came in a m.u.f.fled way through the plaid, and he gathered from this that they were approaching the falls he had heard before, or else some others.

The sound of roaring water grew louder and louder, and now he knew that they were climbing more slowly evidently upward, as if the ascent were exceedingly steep. Then the sound of the water falling--a deep ba.s.s, quivering roar--grew louder and louder; while, from being hot now almost to suffocation, the perspiration gathered on his brow grew cold, and, trembling with horror, he felt that the end was near, and that the wretches who held him were about to throw him off into the fall whose waters thundered in his ear.

He uttered a few wild cries for mercy, but they seemed to be unheard, and, just when his agony was strained to the highest pitch, the roar suddenly grew fainter, and the bearers paused on comparatively level ground.

All at once one of the men unfastened the cords which confined him, after which the other grasped his wrist, and he was forced to walk onward at a rapid rate.

For some minutes he could hardly stumble along, his feet feeling numbed and tingling sharply, but by degrees the normal sensation returned, and he could feel that he was walking through short heather, and at times over soft, springy gra.s.s.

At last he was so exhausted that he stumbled again and again, recovering himself by an effort, and keeping on for another quarter of an hour, when his legs gave way beneath him, and he sank upon his knees.

A low, guttural e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from his conductor now reached his ears, and he felt that the plaid was twisted quickly from his neck, the cool night air fell upon his cheek, and he could see the stars indistinctly, as if through a mist, as they suddenly grew dark, and then there was nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

DIRK MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL.

The stars were twinkling brightly when Max Blande looked at them again, and for some time there was nothing else but stars.

But they were above him, and, as he looked up at them, they looked down at him.