entire, and now they are broken."

"The weird is fulfilled!" cried the old woman, laughing eldrichly, and
clapping her hands. "That broken shaft cam' frae a soldier o'
Richmont's; that frae ane o' Cailon's, and that frae ane o' Neville's.
They are a' dead, an' I am revenged!"

The old woman then departed, scattering, as she went, the broken
fragments of the arrows on the floor of the tent.




THE LAIRD OF BALMACHIE'S WIFE.


In the olden times, when it was the fashion for gentlemen to wear swords,
the Laird of Balmachie went one day to Dundee, leaving his wife at home
ill in bed. Riding home in the twilight, he had occasion to leave the
high road, and when crossing between some little romantic knolls, called
the Cur-hills, in the neighbourhood of Carlungy, he encountered a troop
of fairies supporting a kind of litter, upon which some person seemed to
be borne. Being a man of dauntless courage, and, as he said, impelled by
some internal impulse, he pushed his horse close to the litter, drew his
sword, laid it across the vehicle, and in a firm tone exclaimed--

"In the name of God, release your captive."

The tiny troop immediately disappeared, dropping the litter on the
ground. The laird dismounted, and found that it contained his own wife,