8.The boy starts to his feet and his keen eye looks along the ready rifle，for his sires had all been famous deer-stalkers，and the passion of the chase was hereditary in his blood.Lo！a deer from Dalness，hound-driven，or sullenly astray，slowly bearing his antlers up the glen，then stopping a moment to snuff the air，then away，away！The rifle-shot rings dully from the scarce echoing snowcliffs，and the animal leaps aloft，struck by a certain，but not sudden death wound.Oh！for Fingal now to pull him down like a wolf！But laboring and lumbering heavily along，the snow spotted as he bounds with blood，the huge animal disappears round some rocks at the head of the glen.
9.“Follow me，Flora！”the boy-hunter cries；and flinging down their plaids，they turn their bright faces to the mountain，and away up the long glen after the stricken deer.Fleet was the mountain girl，and Ronald，as he ever and anon looked back to wave her on，with pride admired her lightsome motion as she bounded along the snow.Redder and redder grew that snow，and more heavily trampled，as they winded round the rocks.Yonder is the deer，staggering up the mountain，not half a mile off，now standing at bay，as if before his swimming eyes came Fingal，the terror of the forest，whose howl was known to all the echoes，and quailed the herd while their antlers were yet afar off.“Rest，Flora，rest！while I fly to him with my rifle，and shoot him through the heart！”
10.Up，up，up the interminable glen，that kept winding and winding round many a jutting promontory and many a castellated cliff，the red deer kept dragging his goreoozing bulk，sometimes almost within，and then for some hundreds of yards just beyond rifle-shot；while the boy，maddened by the chase，pressed forward，now all alone，nor any more looking behind for Flora，who had entirely disappeared：and thus he was hurried on for miles by the whirlwind of passion，till at last he struck the noble quarry，and down sank the antlers in the snow，while the air was spurned by the convulsive beatings of feet.Then leaped Donald upon the red deer，like a beast of prey，and lifted up a look of triumph to the mountain tops.
11.Where is Flora？Her lover has forgotten her，and he is alone，nor knows it；he and the red deer，an enormous animal，fast stiffening in the frost of death.
12.Some large flakes of snow are in the air，and they seemed to wave and whirl，though an hour ago there was not a breath.Faster they fall，and faster：the flakes are almost as large as leaves；and overhead，whence has so suddenly come that huge yellow cloud？“Flora，where are you？Where are you，Flora？”and from the huge hide the boy leaps up，and sees that no Flora is at hand.But yonder is a moving speck，far off upon the snow.‘Tis she，’tis she；and again Ronald turns his eyes upon the quarry，and the heart of the hunter burns like a new-stirred fire.
13.Shrill as the eagle‘s cry，disturbed in his eyry，he sends a shout down the glen，and Flora，with cheeks pale and bright by fits，is at last by his side.Panting and speechless she stands，and then dizzily sinks on his breast.Her hair is ruffled by the wind that revives her，and her face all moistened by the snow-flakes，now not falling，but driven，for the day has undergone a dismal change，and all over the sky are now lowering savage symptoms of a fast-coming night-storm.
14.Bare is poor Flora’s head，and sorely drenched her hair，that anhour or two ago glittered in the sunshine.Her shivering frame missesnow the warmth of the plaid which almost no cold can penetrate，and which had kept the vital current flowing in many a bitter blast.What would the miserable boy give now for the covering lying far away，which，in his foolish passion，he flung down to chase that fatal deer！
15.“Oh，Flora！if you would not fear to stay here by yourself，under the protection of God，who surely will not forsake you，soon will I go and come from the place where our plaids are lying；and under the shelter of the deer we may be able to outlive the hurricane；you wrapped in them，and folded，oh my dearest sister，in my arms！”“I will go with you down the glen，Ronald！”and she left his breast，but weak as a day-old lamb tottered and sank down on the snow.The cold，intense as if the air were ice，had chilled her very heart，after the heat of that long race：and it was manifest that here she must be for the night，to live or die.And the night seemed already come，so full was the lift of snow；while the glimmer every moment became gloomier，as if the day were expiring long before its time.Howling at a distance down the glen，was heard a sea-born tempest from the Linnhe Loch，where now they both knew the tide was tumbling in，bringing with it sleet and snow-blasts from afar；and from the opposite quarter of the sky an inland tempest was raging to meet it，while every lesser glen had its own uproar，so that on all hands they were environed with death.
16.“I will go，and till I return，leave you with God.”“Go，Ronald！”and he went and came as if he had been endowed with the raven‘s wings.