Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the mountains, the frith and the lake! 'Tis the bugle--but not for the chase is the call; 'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.
'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath; They call to the dirk, the claymore and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.
Be the brand of each Chieftain like Stroke's in his ire! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore, Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.
As the fair singer concluded, Stroke, who had been deeply moved, heaved a great sigh, and immediately, as if in echo of it, came a sigh from the opposite side of the dell. In a second of time three people had learned that a certain lady had two lovers. She starts to her feet, still carefully avoiding the puddles, but it is not she who speaks.
Stroke dashes to the girl's side, just in time to pluck her from the arms of a masked man. The villain raises his mask and reveals the face of--it looks like Corp, but the disguise is thrown away on Stroke.
"Ha, Cathro," he exclaims joyfully, "so at last we meet on equal terms!"
"So be it. The prideful onion is his who wins her."
A terrible conflict ensues. Cathro draws first blood. 'Tis but a scratch. Ha! well thrust, Stroke. In vain Cathro girns his teeth. Inch by inch he is driven back, he slips, he recovers, he pants, he is apparently about to fling himself down the steep bank and so find safety in flight, but he comes on again.
Even as Stroke is about to press home, the cowardly foe flings himself down the steep bank and rolls out of sight. He will give no more trouble to-night; and the victor turns to the Lady Grizel, who had been repinning the silk scarf across her breast, while the issue of the combat was still in doubt.
"My liege, thou hast saved me from the wretch Cathro."
"May I always be near to defend thee in time of danger, my pretty chick."
("Tommy, you promised not to call me by those silly names.")
("They slip out, I tell you. That was aye the way wi' the Stuarts.")
("Well, you must say 'Lady Grizel.') Good, my prince, how can I thank thee?"