“He was the result of his history,” said the minister, quickly, his face flushing with a sudden inspiration. “From the start of time those black moments for the first Marquis of Argile have been preparing. I can speak myself of his more recent environment He has about him ever flatterers of the type of our friend the sentinel out there, well-meaning but a woeful influence, keeping from him every rumour that might vex his ear, colouring every event in such a manner as will please him. They kept the man so long in a delusion that fate itself was under his heel, that when the stress of things came--” “Not another word!” cried M’Iver from the doorway. We turned round and found him standing there wrapped up in his plaid, his bonnet over a frowning brow, menace in his eye. “Not another word, if it must be in that key. Has Archibald Marquis of Argile and Lord of Lochow no friends in this convocation? I would have thought his own paid curate and a neighbour so close as Elrigmore would never waste the hours due to sleep upon treason to the man who deserved better of them.” “You should have eavesdropped earlier and you would have learned that there was no treason in the matter. I’m as leal friend to my lord of Argile as you or any of your clan. What do I care for your bubbly-jock Highland vanity?” said Gordon. “We were saying nothing of MacCailein that we would not say to you,” I explained to M’Iver, annoyed in some degree by his interference. “Ay, ay,” said he, with a pitying shrug of the shoulder, and throwing off his last objection to my curiosity; “you’re on the old point again. Man, but you’re ill to satisfy! And yet we must have the story sooner or later, I suppose. I would rather have it anywhere than in this wauf and... [Page 261 missing.]