“That you will do so,” answered Ranald, “is certain, though the cause be hid in the darkness of futurity.  You say,” he continued, suppressing his own emotions with difficulty, “that side by side you have pursued your prey like bloodhounds—­have you never seen bloodhounds turn their fangs against each other, and fight over the body of a throttled deer?”

“It is false!” said M’Aulay, starting up, “these are not the forebodings of fate, but the temptation of some evil spirit from the bottomless pit!” So saying, he strode out of the cabin.

“Thou hast it!” said the Son of the Mist, looking after him with an air of exultation; “the barbed arrow is in thy side!  Spirits of the slaughtered, rejoice! soon shall your murderers’ swords be dyed in each other’s blood.”

On the succeeding morning all was prepared, and Montrose advanced by rapid marches up the river Tay, and poured his desultory forces into the romantic vale around the lake of the same name, which lies at the head of that river.  The inhabitants were Campbells, not indeed the vassals of Argyle, but of the allied and kindred house of Glenorchy, which now bears the name of Breadalbane.  Being taken by surprise, they were totally unprepared for resistance, and were compelled to be passive witnesses of the ravages which took place among their flocks and herds.  Advancing in this manner to the vale of Loch Dochart, and laying waste the country around him, Montrose reached the most difficult point of his enterprise.

To a modern army, even with the assistance of the good military road which now leads up by Teinedrum to the head of Loch Awe, the passage of these extensive wilds would seem a task of some difficulty.  But at this period, and for long afterwards, there was no road or path whatsoever; and to add to the difficulty, the mountains were already covered with snow.  It was a sublime scene to look up to them, piled in great masses, one upon another, the front rank of dazzling whiteness, while those which arose behind them caught a rosy tint from the setting of a clear wintry sun.  Ben Cruachan, superior in magnitude, and seeming the very citadel of the Genius of the Region, rose high above the others, showing his glimmering and scathed peak to the distance of many miles.

The followers of Montrose were men not to be daunted by the sublime, yet terrible prospect before them.  Many of them were of that ancient race of Highlanders, who not only willingly made their couch in the snow, but considered it as effeminate luxury to use a snowball for a pillow.  Plunder and revenge lay beyond the frozen mountains which they beheld, and they did not permit themselves to be daunted by the difficulty of traversing them.  Montrose did not allow their spirits time to subside.  He ordered the pipes to play in the van the ancient pibroch entitled, “HOGGIL Nam Bo,” etc. (that is, We come through snow-drift to drive the prey), the shrilling