They rolled on the floor, now tussling among the crackling faggots, anon pitching soft as one body on the peat dust in the corner, again knocking over a bench and bringing down the tools thereon to the floor with a jingle which might have been heard far out on the loch.

They were still clawing and cuffing each other in blind rage, when a hand, heavy and remorseless, was laid upon each.

Sholto found himself being dabbled in the great tempering cauldron which stood by his father's forge.

Laurence heard his own teeth rattle as he was shaken sideways till his joints waggled like those of a puppet at Keltonhill Fair.

Then it was his turn to be doused in the water.