The curse of the bereaved widow clung steadily to the house of M’Alister.  The lands passed from heir to heir, but no laird had ever been succeeded by a son.  Often had the hopes of the clan been raised; often had they thought for years that the punishment of their ancestor’s cruelty was to be continued to them no longer—­that the spirits of the widow’s sons were at length appeased; but M’Alister More was to suffer for ever; the hopes of his house might blossom, but they always faded.  It was in the reign of the good Queen Anne that they flourished for the last time; they were blighted then, and for ever.

The laird and the lady had had several daughters born to them in succession, and at last a son:  he grew up to manhood in safety—­the pride of his people, and the darling of his parents; giving promise of every virtue that could adorn his rank.  He had been early contracted in marriage to the daughter of another powerful chieftain in the North, and the alliance, which had been equally courted by both families, was concluded immediately on the return of the young laird from his travels.  There was a great intercourse in those days with France—­most of the young highland chiefs spent a year or two in that country, many of them were entirely educated there, but that was not the case with the young heir of M’Alister; he had only gone abroad to finish his breeding after coming to man’s estate.  It was shortly before the first rebellion in the 15, to speak as my informant spoke to me—­and being young, and of an ardent nature, he was soon attracted to the court of the old Pretender, whose policy it was to gain every Scotch noble, by every means, to his views.  The measures he took succeeded with the only son of M’Alister:—­he returned to his native country, eager for the approaching contest, pledged heart and hand to his exiled sovereign.  In the troubles which broke out almost immediately on the death of the queen, he and his father took different sides; the old laird fortified his high tower, and prepared to defend it to the last, against the enemies of the House of Hanover.  The young laird bade adieu to his beautiful wife, and attended by a band of his young clansmen, easily gained to aid a cause so romantic, he secretly left his duchess, and joined the army of the Pretender at Perth.

The young wife had lived with her husband, at a small farm on the property, a little way up the glen, a mile or two from the castle.  But when her husband deserted her, she was removed by her father-in-law to his own house for greater security.  Months rolled away, and the various fortunes of the rebels were reported, from time to time, in the remote glen where the chief strength of the M’Alisters lay.  News did not travel swiftly then, and often they heard what was little to be relied on, so much did hope or fear magnify any slight success, or any ill-fortune.  At last, there came a sough of a great battle having been fought somewhere in the west country, which had decided the fate of the opposing parties.  The young laird and his valiant band had turned the fortune of the day.  Argyle was defeated and slain, and the Earl of Marr was victorious;—­King James had arrived, and was to be crowned at Scone, and all Scotland was his own.