' At the first
strain, his brother, who had thrown himself on some blankets behind the
fire, turned over on his face, feigning sleep. Sandy M'Naughton took
his pipe out of his mouth, and sat up straight and stiff, staring into
vacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, drew a short, sharp breath. We
had often sat, Graeme and I, in our student-days, in the drawing-room at
home, listening to his father wailing out 'Lochaber' upon the pipes, and
I well knew that the awful minor strains were now eating their way into
his soul.
Over and over again the Highlander played his lament. He had long since
forgotten us, and was seeing visions of the hills and lochs and glens of
his far-away native land, and making us, too, see strange things out
of the dim past. I glanced at old man Nelson, and was startled at the
eager, almost piteous, look in his eyes, and I wished Campbell would
stop. Mr. Craig caught my eye, and, stepping over to Campbell, held out
his hand for the violin. Lingeringly and lovingly the Highlander drew
out the last strain, and silently gave the minister his instrument.
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