by the conflict, forgetting that they had but conquered a detachment of cavalry, and scarcely knowing the danger into which they were precipitating themselves, until they saw the scattered relics of the Roman cavalry received behind the protection of the larger body of infantry, superior to the natives even in number, and far more so in arms and discipline.

It would have been madness to have continued offensive operations further; the women and children were all in safety, and it became the duty of the victorious cavalry to retire slowly, and protect the retreat of all the divisions of the little Keltic army.

Last in the retreat was the chieftain Aëdh, sorely wounded in the face by a spear, yet exposing himself to every danger.

He had just checked an advancing column of the foe, at the cost of severe loss to his little band, when he turned to thank one who had fought by his side, and had, by a timely blow, intercepted the thrust of a sword, which would otherwise have cost him his life.

To his surprise it was Eachan, who had snatched sword and shield from the side of a dead warrior, and ranged himself by his father's side.

'Eachan,' he said, 'poor boy, here by my side; perhaps it is better that thou shouldst die thus; but yet thou mayst be of more service to thy people elsewhere. Listen, do not linger here outside the gate with the rest; pass the village, cross the grove, descend the path by which thou didst free the captive, and then take the road above the loch to the village of my kinsman Lugid; bid him come at once with his followers, if he would save his country, for if the Romans make good their hold here, all is lost, and his turn will follow next.'

The boy looked round. The greater part of the retiring Caledonians had already reached the base of the acclivity, up which they were retreating, manning the ramparts as they entered. It was evident, from the manner in which the foe was closing upon them, that there would yet be a desperate struggle before all the defenders could enter the protection of the rude fortifications.

'Father,' said Eachan, 'let me die with thee here; I cannot leave thee in such danger.'

་

Alas! poor boy, thy very presence would arouse the fears of the people lest the existence of one accursed and doomed to the gods should bring ruin and death upon them; but if thou

canst but reach Lugid, and bring assistance, thou mayst save us all; if thou failest, do not return thyself.'

'But my poor mother?'

A shade crossed the chieftain's brow, but he repressed the rising agony.

'All are alike my care now,' he said. 'Boy, if thou wouldst save thy mother, thou must haste to Lugid; we cannot hold the mound against the foe for many hours.'

At that moment another attempt was made by the advancing Romans to cut off their victims from the gate. A squadron of cavalry had almost intercepted the path of retreat ; Aëdh rushed forward at the head of a gallant little band; a desperate struggle followed, but it was successful, and the whole body, save those lying dead or wounded on the plain, saw their retreat secured.

Twilight was fast fading into night; a firm line of warriors yet stood at the base of the acclivity checking the advance of the foe, while they waited their own time to make the final rush for the gate.

At a little distance, sheltered by the gathering darkness, beneath the shade of some bushes, Eachan embraced his father, and sobbed as

if his heart would break; he was but a boy.

'Go, my child,' said the gallant Aëdh; 'go and bring us succour, thus may thy dire offence be forgiven. Poor boy, I know it was thy mother's tears which compelled thee; yet it was, perhaps, treason to thy people; they will pardon if thou savest them now.'

'And thou, my father?'

'I, my boy, I have nought to pardon thee as a father, only as a chieftain; go, my boy, the gods forgive, bless, and protect thee; go, and thou mayst save thyself and us.'

Eachan broke from that last embrace, cast one longing, lingering look upon his parent, and disappeared in the gloom.

ACHAN entered the village, unper

ceived in the darkness and confusion,

and sought his home—perhaps for the last time, entered, and found his mother weeping within. She uttered a cry of joy, and mother and son clasped each other convulsively.

'Thou art saved then, my boy,' she said, 'saved from this cruel priesthood.'

'Yes, mother, but at what a price? Father is safe as yet, may God preserve him! but the foe is very numerous, and I go to bring succour ; he has sent me; it is the only hope of the people.'

6

'Must thou go? Will none other suffice?'

Alas, mother, our bliss would be short if I went not. I may not linger one moment ; moments are as hours. Farewell, my own dear