They did not; and he proceeded to tell it in a grave and simple fashion
which was sufficiently impressive. For he was talking to these two
friends now in the most unembarrassed way; and he had, besides, the
chief gift of a born narrator--an utter forgetfulness of himself. His
eyes rested quite naturally on their eyes as he told his tale. But first
of all, he spoke of the exceeding loyalty of the Highland folk to the
head of their clan. Did they know that other story of how Maclean of
Duart tried to capture the young heir of the house of Lochbuy, and how
the boy was rescued and carried away by his nurse? And when, arrived at
man's estate, he returned to revenge himself on those who had betrayed
him, among them was the husband of the nurse. The young chief would have
spared the life of this man, for the old woman's sake. "_Let the tail go
with the hide_," said she, and he was slain with the rest. And then the
narrator went on to the story of the flogging. He told them how Maclean
of Lochbuy was out after the deer one day; and his wife, with her child,
had come out to see the shooting. They were driving the deer; and at a
particular pass a man was stationed so that, should the deer come that
way, he should turn them back. The deer came to this pass; the man
failed to turn them; and the chief was mad with rage. He gave orders
that the man's back should be bared, and that he should be flogged
before all the people.

"Very well," continued Macleod. "It was done. But it is not safe to do
anything like that to a Highlander; at least it _was_ not safe to do
anything like that to a highlander in those days; for, as I told you,
Mrs. Ross, we are all like sheep now. Then they went after the deer
again; but at one moment the man that had been flogged seized Maclean's
child from the nurse, and ran with it across the mountain-side, till he
reached a place overhanging the sea. And he held out the child over the
sea; and it was no use that Maclean begged on his knees for forgiveness.