Quite at the top, and just before the rocky face of the cliff sprang above the foliage, we found that strange house which was known in the country as “Cluny’s Cage.”  The trunks of several trees had been wattled across, the intervals strengthened with stakes, and the ground behind this barricade levelled up with earth to make the floor.  A tree, which grew out from the hillside, was the living centre-beam of the roof.  The walls were of wattle and covered with moss.  The whole house had something of an egg shape; and it half hung, half stood in that steep, hillside thicket, like a wasp’s nest in a green hawthorn.

Within, it was large enough to shelter five or six persons with some comfort.  A projection of the cliff had been cunningly employed to be the fireplace; and the smoke rising against the face of the rock, and being not dissimilar in colour, readily escaped notice from below.

This was but one of Cluny’s hiding-places; he had caves, besides, and underground chambers in several parts of his country; and following the reports of his scouts, he moved from one to another as the soldiers drew near or moved away.  By this manner of living, and thanks to the affection of his clan, he had not only stayed all this time in safety, while so many others had fled or been taken and slain:  but stayed four or five years longer, and only went to France at last by the express command of his master.  There he soon died; and it is strange to reflect that he may have regretted his Cage upon Ben Alder.

When we came to the door he was seated by his rock chimney, watching a gillie about some cookery.  He was mighty plainly habited, with a knitted nightcap drawn over his ears, and smoked a foul cutty pipe.  For all that he had the manners of a king, and it was quite a sight to see him rise out of his place to welcome us.

“Well, Mr. Stewart, come awa’, sir!” said he, “and bring in your friend that as yet I dinna ken the name of.”

“And how is yourself, Cluny?” said Alan.  “I hope ye do brawly, sir.  And I am proud to see ye, and to present to ye my friend the Laird of Shaws, Mr. David Balfour.”

Alan never referred to my estate without a touch of a sneer, when we were alone; but with strangers, he rang the words out like a herald.

“Step in by, the both of ye, gentlemen,” says Cluny.  “I make ye welcome to my house, which is a queer, rude place for certain, but one where I have entertained a royal personage, Mr. Stewart—­ye doubtless ken the personage I have in my eye.  We’ll take a dram for luck, and as soon as this handless man of mine has the collops ready, we’ll dine and take a hand at the cartes as gentlemen should.  My life is a bit driegh,” says he, pouring out the brandy; “I see little company, and sit and twirl my thumbs, and mind upon a great day that is gone by, and weary for another great day that we all hope will be upon the road.  And so here’s a toast to ye:  The Restoration!”