At the close of day we could just see the outline of a deep, dark valley which we knew was the Pass of Glencoe, with a good road, hundreds of feet below.  Acting on the advice of the drover, we left the road and descended cautiously until we could go no farther in safety; then we collected an enormous number of old roots, the remains of a forest of birch trees which originally covered the mountain-side, and with some dry heather lighted an enormous tire, taking care to keep it within bounds.  A small rill trickling down the mountain-side supplied us with water, and, getting our apparatus to work and some provisions from our bags, we sat down as happy as kings to partake of our frugal meal, to the accompaniment of the “cup that cheers but not inebriates,” waiting for the rising of the full moon to light us on our farther way to the road below.  We were reclining amongst the heather, feeling thankful to the Almighty that we had not shared the fate of the two young men whose cairn we had seen on the hills above—­an end we might easily have met, given the weather of yesterday and similar conditions—­when suddenly we heard voices below us.  Our fire now cast a glare around it, and everything looked quite dark beyond its margin.  Our feelings of surprise increased as from the gloom emerged the gigantic figures of two stalwart Highlanders.  We thought of the massacre of Glencoe, for these men were nearly double our size; and, like the Macdonalds, we wondered whether they came as friends or foes, since we should have fared badly had it been the latter.  But they had been attracted by the light of our fire, and only asked us if we had seen “the droves.”  We gave them all the information we could, and then bidding us “good night” they quietly departed.

[Illustration:  “THE SISTERS,” GLENCOE.  “Here was wild solitude in earnest....  The scene we looked upon was wild and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm.”]

The darkness of the night soon became modified by the reflected light from the rising moon behind the great hills on the opposite side of the glen.  We extinguished the dying embers of our fire and watched the full moon gradually appearing above the rocks, flooding with her glorious light the surrounding scene, which was of the sublimest grandeur and solitude.

[Illustration:  THE RIVER COE, GLENCOE.]

Many descriptions of this famous glen have been written, and no one who could see it under such favourable and extraordinary conditions as we enjoyed that night would be disposed to dispute the general opinion of its picturesque and majestic beauty.  Surely Nature is here portrayed in her mightiest form!  How grand, and yet how solemn!  See the huge masses of rock rising precipitously on both sides of the glen and rearing their rugged heads towards the very heavens!  Here was wild solitude in earnest, and not even the cry of the eagle which once, and even now, had its abode in these vast mountain recesses broke the awful