“He has found ye, lassie,” cried old John excitedly. “Go down to him; dinna let him find ye here in Robbie’s chamber. Ye ken the blame will all fall on the lad,” and he sought to escort her to the door, but she evaded his outstretched hand with laughing unconcern. “Nay, nay, my good fellow. I protest, I will not see him,” she exclaimed, with reckless abandon. She would keep up the impersonation till the end. Another such chance to blast her enemy’s reputation would not come to her in a lifetime, she thought wickedly. “Listen,” she cried impetuously. “My father, the Duke of Gordon, while he admires the poetry of Mr. Burns, does not admire the man himself, consequently he did not send him an invitation to attend the masked ball which is given at Gordon Castle to-night,” she explained glibly. “’Twas a monstrous insult to the Bard of Scotland, and I told my father so, and that I would not countenance it. Then I stole away, as I thought, unobserved, and came here to induce Mr. Burns to return with me. Once inside the castle my father will be forced to receive him graciously. Now, hurry, landlord, tell him to dress and we’ll slip out quietly, and, with your connivance, elude my—father’s vigilance.” She watched him narrowly to note the effect of her story. “My lady,” replied John proudly, “the lad goes to Athol Castle to-night, so ye had better gang hame wi’ your father.” She gave a quick start of delighted satisfaction. So he was going after all. If she had only known that and felt sure of it, she might have spared herself this nerve-racking experiment, she thought impatiently. The pounding had kept up incessantly, and now a stern, commanding voice called out for the landlord. “He’s calling me,” said John nervously; “ye’d better go doon an’ explain a’ to him,” he told her pleadingly. “Landlord, where the devil are you?” They could hear the heavy tread of feet walking about the rooms below. “He’s inside the house,” whispered John, wringing his hands. “O Lud, he seems most angry, doesn’t he?” she said in a subdued voice. She had suddenly grown tired of the deception, and was eager now to get away. “I—I think perhaps ’twould be best if he—er—my father didn’t find me here after all,” she admitted. “I—I really dare not face his anger.” She jumped up quickly, all her bravado vanished. “Get me out of this place, landlord, quick, quick!” she gasped, clinging to him. Oh, why had she come? Sir William would make such a disagreeable scene if he found her here. “Into that room wi’ ye!” cried John quickly, pointing to a small door in the opposite side of the room; “an’ I’ll get your father out o’ the house.”