for them, and they went in a body to Crawford Keep to bid the chief
"farewell." It was a hard hour, after all, to Crawford. The great
purpose that he had kept before his eyes for years was not at that
moment sufficient. He had dressed himself in his full chieftain's suit
to meet them. The eagle's feather in his Glengary gave to his great
stature the last grace. The tartan and philibeg, the garters at his
knee, the silver buckles at his shoulder, belt, and shoon, the
jewelled mull and dirk, had all to these poor fellows in this last
hour a proud and sad significance. As he stood on the steps to welcome
them, the wind colored his handsome face and blew out the long black
hair which fell curling on his shoulders.

Whatever they intended to say to him, when they thus saw him with
young Colin by his side they were unable to say. They could only lift
their bonnets in silence. The instincts and traditions of a thousand
years were over them; he was at this moment the father and the chief
of their deepest affection. One by one they advanced to him. He
pressed the hands of all. Some of the older men--companions of his
youth in play and sport--he kissed with a solemn tenderness. They went
away silently as they came, but every heart was full and every eye was
dim. There was a great feast for them in the clachan that night, but
it was a sombre meeting, and the dominie's cheerful words of advice
and comfort formed its gayest feature.

The next day was calm and clear. The women and children were safely on
board soon after noon, and about four o'clock the long boats left the
shore full of men. Tallisker was in the front one. As they pulled away
he pointed silently to a steep crag on the shingly beach. The chief
stood upon it. He waved his bonnet, and then the long-pent feelings of
the clan found vent in one long, pitiful Gallic lament, _O hon a rie!