"Dearest mother," answered Hamish, "how shall I convince you that you live in this land of our fathers as if our fathers were yet living?  You walk as it were in a dream, surrounded by the phantoms of those who have been long with the dead.  When my father lived and fought, the great respected the man of the strong right hand, and the rich feared him.  He had protection from Macallum Mhor, and from Caberfae, and tribute from meaner men. [Caberfae--ANGLICE, the Stag's-head, the Celtic designation for the arms of the family of the high Chief of Seaforth.]  That  is ended, and his son would only earn a disgraceful and unpitied death by the practices which gave his father credit and power among those who wear the breacan.  The land is conquered; its lights are quenched--Glengarry, Lochiel, Perth, Lord Lewis, all the high chiefs are dead or in exile.  We may mourn for it, but we cannot help it.  Bonnet, broadsword, and sporran--power, strength, and wealth, were all lost on Drummossie Muir."