CHAPTER I.

THE SIX BOYS OF DARE.


The sun had sunk behind the lonely western seas; Ulva, and Lunga, and
the Dutchman's Cap had grown dark on the darkening waters; and the
smooth Atlantic swell was booming along the sombre caves; but up here in
Castle Dare, on the high and rocky coast of Mull, the great hall was lit
with such a blaze of candles as Castle Dare had but rarely seen. And yet
there did not seem to be any grand festivities going forward; for there
were only three people seated at one end of the long and narrow table;
and the banquet that the faithful Hamish had provided for them was of
the most frugal kind. At the head of the table sat an old lady with
silvery-white hair and proud and fine features. It would have been a
keen and haughty face but for the unutterable sadness of the
eyes--blue-gray eyes under black eyelashes that must have been beautiful
enough in her youth, but were now dimmed and worn, as if the weight of
the world's sorrows had been too much for the proud, high spirit. On the
right of Lady Macleod sat the last of her six sons, Keith by name, a
tall, sparely built, sinewy young fellow, with a sun-tanned cheek and
crisp and curling hair, and with a happy and careless look in his clear
eyes and about his mouth that rather blinded one to the firm lines of
his face. Glad youth shone there, and the health begotten of hard
exposure to wind and weather. What was life to him but a laugh: so long
as there was a prow to cleave the plunging seas, and a glass to pick out
the branching antlers far away amidst the mists of the corrie? To please
his mother, on this the last night of his being at home, he wore the
kilts; and he had hung his broad blue bonnet, with its sprig of