'Megret turned away and proceeded some steps down the avenue, and on his return all traits of anger had disappeared from his face, and a cold, smooth smile was substituted. Meanwhile the Scot approached and courteously greeted them.
'You come just in time, sir Mac Donalbain,' said Megret in an apparently friendly manner, 'to enlighten me upon a matter of some interest. According to your name and your own assurance you are indeed a Scot, and can give us information from the best sources relative to the manners and customs of your dear fatherland.'
'Why not!' asked the Scot with a forced smile.
'Now will you please to inform me, worthy sir,' said Megret, familiarly approaching him, 'what, in your highlands, is the exact meaning of the term, 'children of the mist?'
Starting and shrinking at this question, Mac Donalbain answered only with a deadly glance.
'They also call them 'children of night,' added Megret in a quiet and seemingly friendly manner. 'The terms are said to apply to those poor people who, at variance with the civil authorities, shelter themselves in rocks and caves, occasionally making excursions into the lowlands, plundering and burning dwellings, driving off cattle, now and then perpetrating a murder, and getting hanged at last.'
'You speak of the robber clans of the highlands,' said Mac Donalbain, struggling to preserve his equanimity.
'_C'est cela!_' cried Megret, nodding waggishly; 'and I reckon upon your goodness for some details about them. It would be very interesting to me to compare your children of the mist with a somewhat similar class in this country. In Scotland, I am told, even the nobility do not consider it disreputable to march at the head of such expeditions against the flocks and herds of the lowlands. They make no secret of them, and hold the gallows to be as good a bed of honor as the battle field. Every country has its peculiar customs and code of morals. The leaders of our robber bands are far more delicate. They, at least blacken their faces, renouncing the glory due to their heroic deeds, and wash them clean again when they go into honest company.'
With these words Mac Donalbain's face became pale as death. His eyes rolled as if they would start from their sockets, and his teeth audibly chattered. At length he indistinctly stammered, 'I do not, indeed, understand your words; but your envenomed glances are the true interpreters of your meaning. They at least make it clear that you intend to insult me; and more is unnecessary to induce a noble Scot to demand instant satisfaction.'