But that hoard was pillaged--the idols which he had secretly worshipped had been desecrated and profaned.

Insulted, abused, and beaten, he was no longer worthy, in his own opinion, of the name he bore, or the lineage which he belonged to.

Nothing was left to him--nothing but revenge; and as the reflection added a galling spur to every step, he determined it should be as sudden and signal as the offence.
When Robin Oig left the door of the alehouse, seven or eight English miles at least lay betwixt Morrison and him.

The advance of the former was slow, limited by the sluggish pace of his cattle; the latter left behind him stubble-field and hedgerow, crag and dark heath, all glittering with frost-rime in the broad November moonlight, at the rate of six miles an hour.

And now the distant lowing of Morrison's cattle is heard; and now they are seen creeping like moles in size and slowness of motion on the broad face of the moor; and now he meets them--passes them, and stops their conductor.
"May good betide us," said the Westlander.