Then came the strange part of the procession, for at the heels of these English cavaliers stalked fifty huge redshanks with the McDonnell's heather in their bonnets, and their hands on their sword-hilts.
Yet still stranger was what came next.

For, unarmed, with long, slow strides, walked a noble figure of commanding stature, whose eyes flashed now and again on the shouting rabble, and whose white hair, escaped from his cap, waved tempestuously in the winter wind.

There walked Sorley Boy, upright, sullen, disdainful; and behind him came Ludar, with tight- pressed lips and thunderous brow, his fingers twitching nervously on his belt, and his feet at every step kicking the snow impatiently from his path.

I followed my master as in duty bound, and behind us stalked fifty more silent Scots.
Such was the procession which conducted Sorley Boy McDonnell at the end of his stormy career to do homage to the English Queen.

How it all came to pass I know not.