Chapter XV: The Concealed Path
It was night, and the first snow of October was in the air when my uncle got down from his horse before the door. The great stone house sat on a bench of the mountains. Behind it lay the forest, and below, the pasture land of the Hills.
After the disastrous failure of Prince Charles Edward Stuart to set up his kingdom in Scotland, more than one great Highland family had fled oversea into Virginia, and for a hundred years had maintained its customs. It was at the house of such a family that my uncle stopped.
There was the evidence of travel hard and long on my uncle and his horse. An old man bade him enter.
"Who is here?" said my uncle.
The servant replied with two foreign words, meaning "The Red Eagle" in the Gaelic tongue.
And he led my uncle through the hall into the dining-room. It was a scene laid back a hundred years in Skye that he came on. A big woman of middle age dined alone, in a long, beamed room, lighted with tallow candles. An ancient servant stood behind her chair.
Two features of the woman were conspicuous—her bowed nose and her coarse red hair.
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