“Oh, pray, don’t,” she said, “if it is one of those terrible legends—­”

“But I must tell you,” said he, “because it is about the Macdonalds; and I want to show you that we had not all the badness of those times.  It was Donald Gorm Mor; and his nephew Hugh Macdonald, who was the heir to the chieftainship, he got a number of men to join him in a conspiracy to have his uncle murdered.  The chief found it out, and forgave him.  That was not like a Macleod,” he admitted, “for I never heard of a Macleod of those days forgiving anybody.  But again Hugh Macdonald engaged in a conspiracy; and then Donald Gorm Mor thought he would put an end to the nonsense.  What did he do?  He put his nephew into a deep and foul dungeon—­so the story says—­and left him without food or water for a whole day.  Then there was salt beef lowered into the dungeon; and Macdonald he devoured the salt beef; for he was starving with hunger.  Then they left him alone.  But you can imagine the thirst of a man who has been eating salt beef, and who has had no water for a day or two.  He was mad with thirst.  Then they lowered a cup into the dungeon—­you may imagine the eagerness with which the poor fellow saw it coming down to him—­and how he caught it with both his hands. But it was empty! And so, having made a fool of him in that way, they left him to die of thirst That was the Macdonalds, Miss White, not the Macleods.”

“Then I am glad of Culloden,” said she, with decision, “for destroying such a race of fiends.”

“Oh, you must not say that,” he protested, laughing.  “We should have become quiet and respectable folks without Culloden.  Even without Culloden we should have had penny newspapers all the same; and tourist boats from Oban to Iona.  Indeed, you won’t find quieter folks anywhere than the Macdonalds and Macleods are now.”

“I don’t know how far you are to be trusted,” said she, pretending to look at him with some doubts.

Now they reached the gate of the gardens.

“Do let us go in, Gerty,” said Miss Carry.  “You know you always get hints for your dresses from the birds—­you would never have thought of that flamingo pink and white if you had not been walking through here—­”

“I will go in for a while if you like, Carry,” said she; and certainly Macleod was nothing loath.

There were but few people in the Gardens on this afternoon, for all the world was up at the Eton and Harrow cricket-match at Lord’s, and there was little visible of ’Arry and his pipe.  Macleod began to show more than a school boy’s delight over the wonders of this strange place.  That he was exceedingly fond of animals—­always barring the two he had mentioned—­was soon abundantly shown.  He talked to them as though the mute inquiring eyes could understand him thoroughly.  When he came to animals with which he was familiar in the North, he seemed to be renewing acquaintance with old friends—­like himself, they were strangers in a strange land.