SANDEMAN (in some agitation).  What is your purpose?  What are you after?  I would give something to see into your mind.

CAMPBELL.  Ne’er fash aboot my mind:  what has a soldier to do with ony mental operations?  It’s His Grace’s orders that concern you.  Oot wi’ your man and set him up against the wa’.

SANDEMAN.  Kilmhor, it is murder—­murder, Kilmhor!

CAMPBELL.  Hoots, awa’, man, it’s a thing o’ nae special significance.

SANDEMAN.  I must ask you for a warrant.

CAMPBELL.  Quick then:  Mackenzie will bring it out to you.

(CLERK begins writing. SANDEMAN and soldiers lead STEWART outside, CAMPBELL sits till they are out. CLERK finishes, CAMPBELL signs warrant—­and former goes. CAMPBELL is alone, save for MORAG CAMERON, who is sitting huddled up on stool by fire, and is unnoticed by CAMPBELL.)

CAMPBELL (as one speaking his thoughts aloud).  I’ve been beaten for a’ that.  A strange thing, noo.  Beforehand I would ha’e said naething could be easier.  And yet—­and yet—­there it is!...  It would have been a grand stroke for me....  Cluny—­Keppoch—­Lochiel, and maybe ... maybe—­Hell! when I think of it!  Just a whispered word—­a mere pointed finger would ha’e telled a’.  But no! their visions, their dreams beat me.  “You’ll be adding to your experience to-night, Mr. Campbell, and have something to put to the other side of it,” says he; aye, and by God I have added something to it, and it is a thing I like but little—­that a dream can be stronger than a strong man armed.—­Here come I, Archibald Campbell of Kilmhor, invested with authority as law-officer of the Crown, bearing in my hand the power of life and death, fire and the sword, backed up by the visible authority of armed men, and yet I am powerless before the dreams of an old woman and a half-grown lad—­soldiers and horses and the gallows and yellow gold are less than the wind blowing in their faces.—­It is a strange thing that:  it is a thing I do not understand.—­It is a thing fit to sicken a man against the notion that there are probabeelities on this earth.—­have been beaten for a’ that.  Aye, the pair o’ them have beat me—­though it’s a matter of seconds till one of them be dead.

MORAG (starting into upright position and staring at him; her voice is like an echo to his).  Dead!

CAMPBELL (turning hastily).  What is that!

MORAG.  Is he dead?

CAMPBELL (grimly).  Not yet, but if ye’ll look through this window (he indicates window) presently, ye’ll see him gotten ready for death.

(He begins to collect articles of personal property, hat, etc.)

MORAG.  I will tell you.

CAMPBELL (astounded).  What!

MORAG.  I will tell you all you are seeking to know.

CAMPBELL (quietly).  Good God, and to think, to think I was on the very act—­in the very act of—­tell me—­tell me at once.