“He won’t be in such a hurry as all that, surely.”

So the worthy man went upstairs; and the moment he was gone Macleod shut the door.

“Now, you piper boys!” he called aloud, “get up and play us a reel.  We are going to have a dance.  You are all asleep, I believe.  Come, girls stand up.  You that know the reel, you will keep to this end.  Boys, come out.  You that can dance a reel, come to this end; the others will soon pick it up.  Now, piper boys, have you got the steam up?  What can you give us, now?  ‘Monymusk?’ or the ‘Marquis of Huntley’s Fling?’ or ’Miss Johnston?’ Nay, stay a bit.  Don’t you know ‘Mrs. Macleod of Raasay?’”

“Yes,” “Yes,” “Yes,” “Yes,” “Yes,” “Yes,” came from the six pipers, all standing in a row, with the drones over their shoulders and the chanters in their fingers.

“Very well, then—­off you go!  Now, boys and girls, are all ready?  Pipers, ‘Mrs. Macleod of Raasay!’”

For a second there was a confused roaring on the long drones; then the shrill chanters broke clear away into the wild reel; and presently the boys and girls, who were at first laughingly shy and embarrassed, began to make such imitations of the reel figure, which they had seen often enough, as led to a vast amount of scrambling and jollity, if it was not particularly accurate.  The most timid of the young ones soon picked up courage.  Here and there one of the older boys gave a whoop that would have done justice to a wedding dance in a Highland barn.

“Put your lungs into it, pipers!” Macleod cried out, “Well played, boys!  You are fit to play before a prince?”

The round cheeks of the boys were red with their blowing; they tapped their toes on the ground as proudly as if every one of them was a MacCruimin; the wild noise in this big, empty hall grew more furious than ever—­when suddenly there was an awful silence.  The pipers whipped the chanters from their mouths; the children, suddenly stopping in their merriment, cast one awestruck glance at the door, and then slunk back to their seats.  They had observed not only Mr. ——­, but also the Prince himself.  Macleod was left standing alone in the middle of the floor.

“Sir Keith Macleod?” said his Royal Highness, with a smile.

Macleod bowed low.

“Lady ——­ told me what you were about.  I thought we could have had a peep unobserved, or we should not have broken in on the romp of the children.”

“I think your Royal Highness could make amends for that,” said Macleod.

There was an inquiring glance.

“If your Royal Highness would ask some one to see that each of the children has an orange, and a tart, and a shilling, it would be some compensation to them for being kept up so late.”

“I think that might be done,” said the Prince, as he turned to leave.  “And I am glad to have made your acquaintance, although in—­”

“In the character of a dancing-master,” said Macleod, gravely.