They were of gold, booty perhaps which his father had taken from some English officer during the civil wars.

The clergyman disengaged them from his sleeves.
"My mother!" he said with some effort--"give them to my poor mother! See her, good father, and teach her what she should think of all this.

Tell her Hamish Bean is more glad to die than ever he was to rest after the longest day's hunting.

Farewell, sir--farewell!" The good man could scarce retire from the fatal spot.

An officer afforded him the support of his arm.