“I was never so insulted in my life,” Eppy gasped tearfully, making little dabs at her eyes with a dainty ’kerchief, and casting hurt, reproachful glances at the blunt old lady, who, after delivering her shaft at the unoffending Eppy, turned to Lord Glencairn, the fire still flashing in her determined eyes. “Lord Glencairn,” she said, with a touch of defiance, “you may forbid me your house hereafter, and indeed I hardly believe I will be welcome,” with a look at the scornful face of her hostess; “but I care not; I believe in Robert’s innocence, and that Mary Campbell has only spoken the truth.” A few nodded their heads to each other in approval. Lord Glencairn stood mute, a prey to the doubting fear which gripped his heart. Her ladyship, with one quick look around at the wavering faces of her friends, knew that she was losing ground, and the color faded from her cheeks. A look of nervous fear came into her steely eyes. She must restore their shaking confidence in her—but how? It gave her a strange feeling of satisfaction to know that whatever the outcome, she had ruined his popularity for the present, but she wanted to ruin him utterly—to turn every door in Edinburgh against him. If she could only get someone to speak in her behalf, she thought prayerfully, as she looked about her. Suddenly her eyes rested on the saturnine features of her uncle, who was regarding her with a malicious smile of triumph. An eager light came into her hard eyes. He hated Robert Burns; he would help her out if anyone would; she would risk it. His word coupled with hers would instantly turn the tide in her favor. And risking all upon the throw, she called out loud enough to be heard above the murmur of voices, “Uncle, it seems my word is not fully believed,” she said, with a little pitying, disdainful smile, which brought the flush of embarrassment to the cheeks of several, who happened to catch her eye; “so if you will oblige me by relating what you know of the unpleasant circumstances, perhaps your word will be accepted by our doubting friends.” Her lazy voice was replete with insulting sarcasm. All eyes turned to look at Sir William, who, after one quick, angry glance at the cool, smiling face of his strategic niece, cleared his throat with irritating precision, and, without glancing at the startled face of his victim, who had started to his feet upon hearing the amazing request of her ladyship, spoke quickly and harshly, a faint tinge of color dying his yellow skin as the dastardly lie left his lips. “I overheard Mr. Burns’ insults to my niece,” he said firmly. “I was standing behind the curtain there,” pointing to a large window, “where I had gone only a moment before Lady Glencairn entered the room, to glance out of the window, having heard a noise without, and before I could make my presence known, Mr. Burns had thrown himself upon his knees, and—and I did not disturb them,” he concluded lamely.