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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Blood of my blood, brother of my name!" says our good Gaelic old-word: it made no insolents in camp or castle, yet it kept the poorest clansmen's head up before the highest chief. But there was, even in Baile Inneraora, sinking in the servile ways of the incomer, something too of honest worship in the deportment of the people.
And I'll swear that a man of your fate may have her if he wants her. I'll give ye my notion of wooing; it's that with the woman free and the man with some style and boldness, he may have whoever he will." "I would be sorry to think it," said I; "for that might apply to suitors at home in Inneraora as well as me."
"Here's the lamentable end of town Inneraora!" said John, in a doleful key. And we ran, the three of us, up the Fisherland burn side to the wood of Creag Dubh.
And what now, would you say, would be the end of it all coming to the real business of the palmist, which, I take it, is not to give past history but to forecast fate?" I'll not deny but I was startled by the woman's tale, for here was Betty and here was MacLachlan put before me as plainly as they were in my own mind day and night since we left Inneraora.
The houses in Inneraora were, and are, built all very much alike, on a plan I thought somewhat cosy and genteel, ere ever I went abroad and learned better. I do not even now deny the cosiness of them, but of the genteelity it were well to say little.
"If you had your wish, Gavin, when and how would you go into Inneraora town after those weary years away?" "Man, I've made that up long syne," said he, and the tear was at his cheek. "Let me go into it cannily at night-fall from the Cromalt end, when the boys and girls were dancing on the green to the pipes at the end of a harvest-day.
With two or three old friends I went into the Tolbooth to see the play for play it was, I must confess, in town Inneraora, when justice was due to a man whose name by ill-luck was not Campbell, or whose bonnet-badge was not the myrtle stem. The Tolbooth hall was, and is to this day, a spacious high-ceiled room, well lighted from the bay-side.
Little more than twelve years syne the Provost's daughter had been a child at the grammar-school, whose one annoyance in life was that the dominie called her Betsy instead of Betty, her real own name: here she was, in the flat of her father's house in Inneraora town, a full-grown woman, who gave me check in my stride and set my face flaming.
The walls at the far end were hung with tapestry very like MacCailein's rooms at home in Inneraora, and down the long sides, whose windows streamed the light upon the hall, great stag-heads glowered with unsleeping eyes, stags of numerous tines.
I doubt MacCailein Mor heard little of this uncheery criticism, for he was looking in a seeming blank abstraction out of the end window at the town lights increasing in number as the minutes passed. His own piper in the close behind the buttery had tuned up and into the gathering "Bha mi air banais 'am bail' Inneraora. Banais bu mhiosa bha riamh air an t-saoghal!"
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