It was not long before the poor Prince had a further proof of this fact.

On the 5th of December, after a council at Derby, the Highland chiefs, disappointed that the country did not rally about them, and that the government forces were steadily increasing on all sides, compelled the Prince to fall back toward Scotland. Fergus Mac-Ivor fiercely led the opposition to any retreat. He would win the throne for his Prince, or if he could not, then he and every son of Ivor would lay down their lives. That was his clear and simple plan of campaign. But he was easily overborne by numbers, and when he found himself defeated in council, he shed actual tears of grief and mortification. From that moment Vich Ian Vohr was an altered man.

Since the day of the quarrel Edward had seen nothing of him. It was, therefore, with great surprise that he saw Fergus one evening enter his lodgings and invite him to take a walk with him. The Chieftain smiled sadly as he saw his old friend take down his sword and buckle it on. There was a great change in the appearance of Vich Ian Vohr. His cheek was hollow. His eye burned as if with fever.

As soon as the two young men had reached a beautiful and solitary glen, Fergus began to tell Edward that he had found out how wrongheaded and rash he had been in the matter of their quarrel. "Flora writes me," continued Fergus, "that she never had, and never could have, the least intention of giving you any encouragement. I acted hastily—like a madman!"