split and dried, it is frequently used in the Highlands instead of candles.  The unexpected and somewhat startling apparition was seen by the red glare of the torches, which displayed the wild features, unusual dress, and glittering arms of those who bore them, while the smoke, eddying up to the roof of the hall, over-canopied them with a volume of vapour.  Ere the strangers had recovered from their surprise, Allan stept forward, and pointing with his sheathed broadsword to the torch-bearers, said, in a deep and stern tone of voice, “Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the chandeliers of my brother’s house, the ancient fashion of our ancient name; not one of these men knows any law but their Chiefs command—­Would you dare to compare to them in value the richest ore that ever was dug out of the mine?  How say you, cavaliers?—­is your wager won or lost?”

“Lost; lost,” said Musgrave, gaily—­“my own silver candlesticks are all melted and riding on horseback by this time, and I wish the fellows that enlisted were half as trusty as these.—­Here, sir,” he added to the Chief, “is your money; it impairs Hall’s finances and mine somewhat, but debts of honour must be settled.”

“My father’s curse upon my father’s son,” said Allan, interrupting him, “if he receive from you one penny!  It is enough that you claim no right to exact from him what is his own.”

Lord Menteith eagerly supported Allan’s opinion, and the elder M’Aulay readily joined, declaring the whole to be a fool’s business, and not worth speaking more about.  The Englishmen, after some courteous opposition, were persuaded to regard the whole as a joke.

“And now, Allan,” said the Laird, “please to remove your candles; for, since the Saxon gentlemen have seen them, they will eat their dinner as comfortably by the light of the old tin sconces, without scomfishing them with so much smoke.”

Accordingly, at a sign from Allan, the living chandeliers, recovering their broadswords, and holding the point erect, marched out of the hall, and left the guests to enjoy their refreshment. [Such a bet as that mentioned in the text is said to have been taken by MacDonald of Keppoch, who extricated himself in the manner there narrated.]

CHAPTER V.

     Thareby so fearlesse and so fell he grew,
     That his own syre and maister of his guise
     Did often tremble at his horrid view;
     And if for dread of hurt would him advise,
     The angry beastes not rashly to despise,
     Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne
     The lion stoup to him in lowly wise,
     (A lesson hard,) and make the libbard sterne
     Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.—­Spenser.