When Mary heard the lying accusation she started forward with a little cry on her lips. Freeing herself from Mrs. Dunlop’s restraining hand, she took a few steps toward Lord Glencairn, her face aglow with indignation, her timidity, her fear of the great ones surrounding her, forgotten for the moment, as she sought to defend the man she loved. “My lord!” she cried thrillingly, “’tis not true; Robbie did not insult her ladyship, for I——” But, with an angry flush, Lady Glencairn interrupted her. “I say he did,” she retorted harshly. Then, as Mrs. Dunlop drew the frightened girl away, she continued with insulting emphasis, “James, bid this man and his virtuous Highland Mary begone at once! Their presence here is an insult to respectable people,” and she flashed them a malicious look. “Alice, Alice!” exclaimed Lord Glencairn, in accents of deep reproach, “that is unworthy of you.” Robert felt as though he must choke with fury. He forgot the presence of Lord Glencairn. He forgot everything but his just indignation. “My God!” he cried passionately, striding up to the sneering woman, “you dare to speak so—you!” “Yes, I!” she returned coolly, eying him disdainfully up and down. “What have you to say against me?” She drew herself up imperiously. “Only this,” replied Robert in a low, tense voice, “ye may say what you will of me, but as ye value your happiness, do not breathe aught against the fair name of Mary Campbell.” She uttered an angry exclamation, but remained speechless and so pale that her lips were devoid of color. If he were dishonorable enough to tell everything, she thought, with a thrill of fear, it would make things decidedly embarrassing and humiliating for her, besides giving her enemies a choice bit of scandal, which they would use to excellent advantage. At this point a few of the guests, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and very much _de trop_, quietly left the room, but the others, and the room was filled, held their ground, shamelessly reveling in the extraordinary scene, the like of which had never before been seen in an Edinburgh drawing-room, which was being enacted before them. “Robert, lad,” whispered Mrs. Dunlop, in a loud aside, “ye must say something. Deny this charge. I know you are innocent of any wrong doing. Speak, tell his lordship so!” and she pointed to where he stood crushed and silent, in speechless sorrow. “What can I say, Mrs. Dunlop?” replied Robert, in an agony of indecision. “Would ye have me flatly contradict her ladyship and accuse her of lying?” He paused a moment with patient sadness. “Nay, nay, friend, there is nothing I can say noo that will smooth matters or clear me in the eyes of the world.” “But you must tell them the truth,” insisted Mary. “Dinna’ let them believe this monstrous thing of you.” She looked indignantly at the cold repellent face of her ladyship, and continued fearlessly, “She’s a bold, wicked woman, and she seeks your ruin!”