Mackenzie led him to a chair. “Indeed, I have not,” he replied brightly. “Believe me, Mr. Burns, when I say that I prize your friendship above that of all men I know.” Robert was about to reply, when he caught sight of Sir William Creech watching them impatiently. He gave a great start and rose to his feet. “Sir William Creech!” he said slowly and bitterly. “To what do I owe this visit?” “I come on a matter of business,” replied Sir William, a flush rising to his cheek. “What business can ye have with me noo?” asked Robert with rising anger. “Perjurer, have ye come to gloat over the man ye helped ruin by your iniquitous falsehood? It isna’ good news ye bring, I warrant ye, else ye would not be the bearer of it.” And he gave a scornful little laugh. “Insulting as ever, Robert Burns,” snarled Sir William, a red spot of anger on each cheek, his eyes flashing wickedly. “Well, I’ll state my business briefly. Ye wrote to the Board of Commissioners for the position of supervisor in the excise. Your request has been voted on and was refused.” He spat the words out with vindictive satisfaction. “Refused!” gasped Rob incredulously. He had felt so confident that the position would be given him. He sat down weakly in his chair, dazed for a moment. “But my name has been on the list of promotion for months,” he told them dully. “’Twas scratched off some weeks ago.” “Scratched off? and why?” “Because of your Jacobite tendencies,” replied Sir William coldly. “Many reports concerning your disloyal sentiments to your country have reached the Board, which utterly ruined any chance ye might have had of promotion.” Robert sat with bowed head, crushed by his disappointment. “Again must I drink deeply of the cup of humiliation and disappointment!” he cried bitterly. Presently he looked up at Mr. Mackenzie with a grim smile on his trembling face. “I am at last persuaded, Mr. Mackenzie, that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied when he foretold, ‘and behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it shall not prosper.’” His head dropped on his chest—his hands clenched the sides of the chair with despairing intensity. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, his face set and drawn, his eyes wild and flashing with bitter anger. “My curse on those damned informers, who have blasted my hopes,” he exclaimed hoarsely. “May the devil be let loose to torture them to madness.” Then he sank down in his chair exhausted by his passion, his face pale and quivering. Mr. Mackenzie hastened to his side, fearful of the consequences of the excitement on his frail constitution. Presently Robert spoke again, but in a weak, broken voice. “My last hope is torn from me,” he said despairingly. “What shall I do now? Ah, Mr. Mackenzie, I have felt all the sweetness of applause in my short life, but I am now experiencing the bitterness of the after-taste.” And the pitiful little smile, the pathetic catch in his voice, strangely moved the heart of his listener.