seemed to find a feline pleasure in seeing how far he could taunt me to go. He held me on the knife-edge of irritation, and perillous as was the experiment he enjoyed seeing whether he could not drive me to give him up.
“Miss Macleod’s solution falls pat. Better leave to-morrow, Sir Robert. To stay is dangerous.”
“’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, ‘out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower safety,’” he quoted.
“I see you always have your tag of Shakespeare ready; then let me remind you what he has to say about the better part of valour,” I flung back, for once alert in riposte.
“A hit, and from the same play,” he laughed. “But a retreat— ’Tis not to be thought of. No, no, Montagu! And it must be you’ll just have to give me up.”
“Oh, you harp on that! You may say it once too often. I shall find a way to get rid of you,” I answered blackly.
“Let me find it for you, lad,” said a voice from the doorway.
We turned, to find that Donald Roy had joined the party. He must have been standing there unobserved long enough to understand my dilemma, for he shot straight to the mark.
“Sir Robert, I’ll never be denying that you’re a bold villain, and that is the one thing that will be saving your life this night. I’m no’ here to argie-bargie with you. The plain fact is just this; that I dinna care a rap for you the tane gate or the tither (the one way or the other). I’d like fine to see you dancing frae the widdie (gallows), but gin the lady wants you spared I’ll no’ say her no. Mr. Englisher, you’ll just gie me your word to tak the road for the border this night, or I’ll give a bit call to Major Macleod. I wouldna wonder but he wad be blithe to see you. Is it to be the road or the Macleod?”
I could have kissed the honest trusty face of the man, for he had lifted me out of a bog of unease. I might be bound by honour, but Captain Macdonald was free as air to dictate terms. Volney looked long at him, weighed the man, and in the end flung up the sponge. He rose to his feet and sauntered over to Aileen.
“I am desolated to find that urgent business takes me south at once, Miss Macleod. ’Tis a matter of the gravest calls me; nothing of less importance than the life of my nearest friend would take me from you. But I’m afraid it must be ‘Au revoir’ for the present,” he said.
She looked past the man as if he had not existed.
He bowed low, the flattery of deference in his fine eyes, which knew so well how to be at once both bold and timid.
“Forgiven my madness?” he murmured.
Having nothing to say, she still said it eloquently. Volney bowed himself out of the room, nodded carelessly to me as he passed, touched Macdonald on the arm with a pleasant promise to attend the obsequies when the Highlander should be brought to London for his hanging, lounged elegantly through the crowded assembly hall, and disappeared into the night.
Chapter IX
Blue Bonnets are Over the Border
Next day I enrolled myself as a gentleman volunteer in Lord Balmerino’s troop of horse-guards, and was at once appointed to a lieutenancy. In waiting for reinforcements and in making preparations for the invasion three weeks were lost, but at last, on the 31st of October, came the order for the march. We had that day been joined by Cluny Macpherson at the head of his clan Pherson, by Menzies of Shien, and by several other small bodies of Highlanders. All told our force amounted to less than five thousand men, but the rapidity of our movements and the impetuous gallantry of the clansmen made the enterprise less mad than it appeared upon the face of it. Moreover we expected to be largely reinforced by recruits who were to declare themselves as we marched south.
It may be guessed that the last hour of leisure I had in the city was spent with Aileen. Of that hour the greater part of it was worse than lost, for a thickheaded, long-legged oaf of an Ayrshire laird shared the room with us and hung to his chair with dogged persistency the while my imagination rioted in diverse forms of sudden death for him. Nor did it lessen my impatience to know that the girl was laughing in her sleeve at my restlessness. She took a malicious pleasure in drawing out her hobnailed admirer on the interesting subject of sheep-rot. At last, having tormented me to the limit of prudence, she got rid of him. To say truth, Miss Aileen had for weeks held me on the tenter-hooks of doubt, now in high hope, far more often in black despair. She had become very popular with the young men who had declared in favour of the exiled family, and I never called without finding some colour-splashed Gael or broad-tongued Lowland laird in dalliance. ’Twas impossible to get a word with her alone. Her admirers were forever shutting off the sunlight from me.
Aileen was sewing on a white satin cockade, which the man from Ayrshire, in the intervals between the paragraphs of his lecture on the sheep industry, had been extremely solicitous of obtaining for a favour. ’Twas a satisfaction to me that my rustic friend departed without it. He was no sooner gone than I came near and perched myself on the arm of a chair beside the girl. For a minute I sat watching in silence the deft movements of the firm brown hands in which were both delicacy and power.
Then, “For Malcolm?” I asked.
“No-o.”
“For whom then?”
“For a brave gentleman who iss marching south with the Prince—a kind friend of mine.”
“You seem to have many of them. For which one is the favour?” I queried, a little bitterly.
She looked at me askance, demure yet whimsical.
“You will can tell when you see him wearing it.”
I fell sulky, at the which mirth bubbled up in her.
“Is he as good a friend as I am, this fine lover of yours?” I asked.
“Every whit.” Mockery of my sullenness danced in her blue eyes.
“And do you—like him as well?” I blurted out, face flaming.
She nodded yes, gaily, without the least sentiment in the world.
I flung away in a pet. “You’re always laughing at me. By Heaven, I won’t be made a fool of by any girl!”
The corners of her eyes puckered to fresh laughter. “Troth, and you needna fear, Kenneth. No girl will can do that for you.”
“Well then,” I was beginning, half placated at the apparent flattery, but stopped with a sudden divination of her meaning. “You think me a fool already. Is that it?”
“I wass thinking that maybe you werena showing the good gumption this day, Mr. Kenneth Montagu.”
My pride and my misery shook hands. I came back to blurt out in boyish fashion,
“Let us not quarrel again to-day, Aileen, and—do not laugh at me these last few minutes. We march this afternoon. The order has been given out.”
Her hands dropped to her lap. Save
