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10 solation, and wishing not to implicate her fath er, had renounced the world, and retired to the convent of Innisfail. One morning, at this pe riod of our story, a small schooner, with every sheet of sail expanded to the wooing winds, was seen to enter the waters of Carina. The pen non that fluttered from her mast, denoted her of Spanish craft, while the bright brass cannon that looked frowningly from her port-holes, told that she was accustomed “to the battle and the breeze.” Her crew were attired in a mot ley mixture of fanciful dresses, while their swarthy faces and brawny frames, marked them for men to whom blood and peril were the day-deeds of their lives. As the gallant ves sel rode gaily up the bay, she made the welkin echo with her brazen throats of thunder, and many were the surmises of the islanders whence she came and what was her object. Having anchored directly opposite the castle of Glen gyle, a small boat was lowered from her side, and made directly for the shore. It was man ned with six seamen, as we have already said, arrayed in the richest and most fanciful attire. He who appeared to be the leader of the party, was, however, even more gorgeously attired than the others. On his head he wore a cap of net work of the brightest crimson, Irorn which, over his left ear, dangled a large golden tassel —a blue and yellow striped jerkin encased his body—a snow-white shirt, similar to those worn by the Greek sailors, richly embroidered, hung in thick folds from the waist to the knee; his hose were of the deepest scarlet, a short boot or buskin enclosed each foot, and was bound tight ly at the ancle by a large diamond buckle. A tartan scarf was thrown loosely around his throat—his dark hair fell in thick masses over his shoulders, while his sun-burnt face and bo som showed that he had been a rover in a sun - nier clime. His bearing was bold and daring, while the tone in which he gave his orders to the crew, told that he was accustomed to com mand. “ Look to your arms!” shouted he, as they' reached the shore, and fastened the boat to a large rock that lay on the margin of the bay— j “look to your aYms. There are sharks here that may show their teeth.” In an instant their cutlasses were gleaming in the air. “ Follow me!” he cried, and leaving the boat in posses sion of one of the crew, the party briskly began to ascend by a path which led to the castle of Glengyle. The leader applied to his lips a small bugle which hung from his neck by a scarlet riband, and made the glens and the moun tains of rugged Canna echo and re-echo again. The peaks of the island were, in an instant thronged with the clansmen of Glengyle, array ed in their bright colored tartan costumes, which showed like a tinted forest in the rays of an au tumn sun. “By the mass !” said the captain— “ but this is a gallant sight. I should like to try the prowess of these hardy clansmen. What say you, Spalatro ? what say you, Henriquez?” The two persons whom he addressed, were the next in rank on board the vessel—tall, dark visaged men—scarred and mutilated from the various conflicts in which they had been fre quently engaged. “Ay, ay,” responded Spalatro, “but their numbers, Senhor—the hawk wars not with the eagle. The boldest breast must fall before une qual numbers.” “ Sagely spoken, my son of the billow,” re plied the captain, “ but Henriquez thinks oth erwise. I can tell by the fire that lights his eye, he would not shrink from the conflict.” 4 • AUGUSTA MIRROR COVER. Henriquez waved aloft his spotless cutlass* and only replied, “You say rightly, captain.” A grasp from the hand of his commander bound them firmer in fellowship. By this time they had reached the summit of the mountain island. The rude fortress of Glen gyle stood full before them. On the outward wall paraded some hundred clansmen, while the centre tower and turrets were thronged with warriors ready to do battle, and wondering who could be the strangers who thus fearlessly broke upon their mountain strong hold. A strong oak en gate thickly studded with bolts of iron, but better known as the portcullis, precluded all en trance, while, lrom the wall, hung a rude bu gle, formed from the horn of the Caledonian bull, which, in those days, roamed the monarchs of the Scottish woods. The strangers paused. The strength of the castle, and the formidable array of warriors, showed that, although accus tomed, on their own element, to rove as con querors, yet here, they must, in submission bend. The captain approached the gate, he seized the horn, “and blew a blast so loud and shrill,” which told he was no stranger to this mode of Highland calling. The ponderous gate rose slowly and Glengyle, followed by a numerous retinue, came forth, and briefly de manded the stranger’s business. “ It is with Glengyle alone I must speak,” said the leader of the party—“alone! free and un- 1 guarded—man to man, must our interview be held.” { Glengyle looked around to his followers, who regarded the manner and language of their vis itor with astonishment. “What—do you fear me?” continued the stranger. A deep blush covered the countenance of Glengyle. A breath had been cast upon the unsullied huckler of his courage, and his hand i involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword.l The followers of the stranger, at the sight of this, like bloodhounds in defence of their er, sprang forward. The vassals of Glengyle drew their arrows to the head—they waited"but i the signal from their leader, and the next mo ment the feathered shafts would have been bu-. ried in the bosoms of the rash and fearless crew.' j “ Hold!” exclaimed Glengyle. “ Never shall it be said, that by numbers we overcame a foe;”! and he waved his hand for them to retire. '1 heir bows were lowered to earth, the sinews of their arms relaxed, and their arrows rattled as they again were returned to their quivers. The captain, with a look, told his followers to desist. Slowly and reluctantly, as if disappoint ed in the dearest calling of their souls, they passed to a distance, and Glengyle and the stranger stood face to face. A "breathless si lence ensued. Conjecture, wonder and suspi cion were busy in the soul of Glengyle. Re ! venge! deep, insatiable revenge alone occupied that of the stranger. He was"the first to break the silence.” “You know me not ?” said he, keenly eyeing Glengyle. “No ! No traces of your features dwell in my memory,—no sounds of your voice are familiar to my ear,” replied the chieftain* “ Indeed ! Yet we have met before—we have seen the sun-ray kiss the night tears from the heather—we have chased the deer over moor and mountain, and heard the pibroch rise on the gale, as we have shared in the conflict.” “ Say you so ?” exclaimed Glengyle. “When —where. I can call no sign to memory to re mind me of our meeting.” “Follow me!” cried the stranger, and he made a motion to move. “Whither?” said Glengyle. “ To a spot dear to thy memory and mine. They passed on—the stranger leading the way—and though dangerous and intricate, yet from the apparent ease with which he threaded it, he showed that he was no stranger to the path. On the summit of one of the crags that overlooked the ocean, he suddenly halted, and turning to Glengyle, exclaimed “Here pause we!” and as he spoke he looked on the broad, bright sky, then on the face of the boundless deep, where, like an albatross slumbering in its ocean cradie, his gallant bark swung by its deep-imbedded anchor. “ Oh, God!” he ex claimed, « scene of my youthful happiness, bit ter remembrancer of my blighed hopes ;” and like a child he sobbed heavily in the agony of soul. Glengyle regarded him with wonder and distrust. The memory of the past was busy within him, and remorse and terror clung to his heart like coiled serpents around their victim. “To what purpose are we here ?” asked Glengyle—“ why this emotion?” “ Canst thou ask ?” replied the stranger, in the most bitter accents of reproach. « Thou ! destroyer of my peace, thou! blighter of my bower of beauty. Look here !” and he frantic ly tore open the garment that covered his bos om, and to the horror-stricken vision of Glen gyle, displayed the mark of a fearful, although now closed wound. Glengyle started back in horror. The past was frightfully clear before him ; it looked like the dead returned to life, and he gazed mute and motionless upon the figure of young Ron ald, now the pirate captain, and who, in return, sought for retribution on the very spot where, three years before, Glengyle, assassin-like, thought he had destroyed him. The brand of the rover gleamed fiercely in the air ; he spoke not, but looked like the dem on of revenge. Glengyle knew that appeal to his bosom was in vain; he therefore drew from its scabbard his sword—stern and savage was the combat that ensued—each in his turn sought to be the victor, but the prowess of young Ron ald prevailed. Glengyle was thrown prostrate to the earth—his sword was shivered into ma ny pieces. In the savage exultation of revenge, the conqueror dragged him to the very preci pice from which he himself had been hurled. “Mercy!” shouted Glengyle; With a giant grasp Ronald held him above the waves. A Fond shout rose from the pirate crew, as, from the deck of their vessel they beheld the figure of their commander thus triumphant, although, to them, was the cause unknown. Sense forsook Glengyle; he-hung lifeless as a corpse in the clutch of Ronald. Revenge was gratified humbled and helpless he had his enemy at hig mercy, and mercy prevailed. He threw th e senseless chieftain on the ground, winded h bugle for his comrades, and in an appeased yet moody spirit of revenge, sought, again, his bark of blood and battle. * CHAPTER 111. “ Whither, oh, whither wilt thou roam, Like a sea-bird seeking an ocean home.” When he reached the deck of his vessel, his gallant crew thronged around him, anxious to know the cause of the scene they had recently beheld. He spoke not, but walked moodily to and fro. The sun was now high in the hea vens, and a brisk breeze came sweeping along,