His companion had evidently no desire to be communicative. But the
consul had heard enough to feel that he was justified in leaving the
matter in his hands. He had given him fair warning. Yet, nevertheless,
he would be even more explicit.

"I do not know," he began, "whether this young McHulish confided to you
his great reliance upon some peculiar effect of his presence among the
tenants, and of establishing his claim to the property by exciting the
enthusiasm of the clan. It certainly struck me that he had some rather
exaggerated ideas, borrowed, perhaps, from romances he'd read, like Don
Quixote his books of chivalry. He seems to believe in the existence of a
clan loyalty, and the actual survival of old feudal instincts and of old
feudal methods in the Highlands. He appears to look upon himself as a
kind of local Prince Charlie, and, by Jove! I've an idea he's almost as
crazy."

"And why should he na believe in his own kith and kin?" said Sir James,
quickly, with a sudden ring in his voice, and a dialectical freedom
quite distinct from his former deliberate and cautious utterance. "The
McHulishes were chieftains before America was discovered, and many's the
time they overran the border before they went as far as that. If there's
anything in blood and loyalty, it would be strange if they did na
respond. And I can tell ye, ma frien', there's more in the Hielands than
any 'romancer,' as ye call them,--ay, even Scott hissel', and he was but
an Edinboro' man,--ever dreamed of. Don't fash yoursel' about that. And
you and me'll not agree about Prince Charlie. Some day I'll tell ye,
ma frien', mair aboot that bonnie laddie than ye'll gather from your
partisan historians. Until then ye'll be wise when ye'll be talking to
Scotchmen not to be expressing your Southern prejudices."