"There is no reason why it shouldn't be excellent," replied MacDonald, "for the laird's own ships bring it direct from the coast of France to the coast of Skye, and there's little chance of adulteration between the two."

When the repast was finished the aged man who had received them at the door entered and announced that MacLeod of MacLeod was ready to greet them in his study. They followed him and were ushered into an oblong room somewhat larger than the one they had left. The king was astonished to find the walls lined with numerous volumes, some of the tomes massive in heavy binding. As books were not over-plentiful even in the realms of civilisation, he had not expected to find them in a corner of the world so remote.

Allaster the Hunchback sat by the side of a huge oaken table, and he did not rise from his chair when his visitors were presented to him, either because he wished the better to conceal the deformity which gave him his nickname, or because he did not consider his guests of such importance as to deserve a more courteous reception. He addressed them in excellent English, and the king constituted himself spokesman for the occasion, MacDonald standing by taciturn, in spite of the excellence of the wine, which indeed he had consumed somewhat sparingly.

"I understand," began MacLeod, "that you have honoured my poor rugged island of Skye with your presence for some days."

"The honour, sir, has been ours," replied the king with an inclination of his head. "I was visiting my friend MacDonald in Sleat and heard of the king's barge, so we came over to see it."

"This is your friend MacDonald of Sleat then?"

"Yes. May I have the pleasure of presenting Mr. James MacDonald to the MacLeod?"

The two Highlanders, one sitting, one standing, bowed somewhat distantly to each other as the king, with a flourish of his hand, made the introduction.

"Perhaps," continued MacLeod suavely, "your friend from Sleat will do a like obligement for yourself."

"I shall not put him to that trouble," said the king airily. "I am of such small account that it would be a pity to put upon a Highland chieftain the task of pronouncing my name. I am called the Guidman of Ballengeich, very much at your service, sir."

"Guidman, meaning farmer of course?" asked Dunvegan.

"Meaning small farmer," said the king with a graceful inclination of the head.

The tones of the MacLeod had not been too cordial from the first, but they became less so at this confession of low quality on the part of his visitor.

"You will forgive my ignorance, but where is Ballengeich?"

"It is a little steading near Stirling, but of more value than its size would indicate, for I am fortunate in possessing the custom of the court."

"You cater for the castle then?" asked MacLeod frigidly.

"Yes, in various ways."

MacLeod turned from his loquacious guest as if he desired to hold no further converse with him, and thus, however crafty he might be, he convinced the king that the castle had no suspicion whom it held.

MacLeod said abruptly to his other visitor, fastening his piercing eyes upon him,--

"I heard you were prisoner at Stirling?"

"Prisoner, sir!" cried MacDonald angrily, the red colour mounting to the roots of his hair. But before he could speak further his garrulous companion struck in.

"What an absurd rumour. MacDonald a prisoner! I assure you he was no more a prisoner at Stirling Castle than he is at this moment in Dunvegan Castle."

"Ah," said McLeod turning again to the farmer, his eyes partially closing, examining the other with more severe scrutiny than had previously been the case. "He was at liberty to come and go as he pleased, then?"

"As free as air, sir; otherwise how could he have visited my slight holding and thus become acquainted with me?"

"I thought perhaps he had met you in the courtyard of Stirling with a sack of corn on your shoulder."

The king laughed heartily at this.

"I said a _small_ farmer certainly, but I am not quite so unimportant as you seem to imply. I have a better horse to carry my corn than the one that to-day carried me to Dunvegan."

The laird ignored this disparagement of his cattle.

"You came to Skye then to see the king's boat, of which you had heard favourable report? The news of her seems to have travelled very quickly."

"Indeed and that's true," said the king complacently. "Information spreads rapidly in the Highlands."

"It seems to spread to the Lowlands as well. You heard the king's proclamation perhaps?"

"Yes, we heard the pronouncement."

"It's possible you came from the fleet?"

"No. We came overland."

"Had you heard of the fame of Malcolm's boat before you left Stirling?"

"I did not say we left Stirling. As a matter of fact we left the small village of Doune some miles to the north of it, and at that time had heard nothing either of Malcolm or his boat."

"Hum," ejaculated the laird, rummaging among his papers on the table.

The king glancing in the direction of MacLeod's hands saw spread out the charter which he himself had signed, giving MacLeod tenure of his land, and beside it, as if this island magnate had been comparing the signatures was the recent draft of the proclamation commending Malcolm MacLeod's boat. This document Dunvegan passed to the Guidman of Ballengeich.

"You know the king's writing perhaps? Will you tell me whether this is, as I suspect, a forgery?"

James wrinkled his brows and examined the signature with minute care.

"I have seen the writing of his majesty," he said at last, "but MacDonald here knows it better than I. What do you think of it, Jamie?" he continued, passing on the parchment to his friend. "Is this the real Mackay, or is it not?"

"It is," said MacDonald shortly and definitely.

"You say that is the actual signature of the king?" inquired MacLeod.

"I could swear it is as genuine as the one on your charter," replied MacDonald.

"Well, now," said MacLeod leaning back in his chair, "will you resolve a mystery for me? How is it likely that James Fifth ever heard of Malcolm MacLeod's boat? and if he did, do you consider it probable that an august monarch would compliment a Highland cateran's skill with the axe?"

"James is a douce body," said the king, "and knows more of what is going on in his realm than folk who think themselves wiser might imagine."

"You hint, then," said MacLeod, drawing down his black brows, "that his majesty may have spies in Skye?"

"Truth to tell, Laird of Dunvegan, it is more than likely," admitted the king, with an air of great candour.

The frown on MacLeod's countenance deepened, and he said harshly,--

"You two gentlemen probably know the fate of spies when they are captured. Their fate is a short shrift, and a long rope."

"And quite properly so," rejoined the king promptly.