It was at the corner of Church Street on the week following the engagement at Glenmoriston, that Miss Macpherson, busied about a few purchases, stopped very sharply opposite the tavern of Major James Fraser (commonly known as Castleleathers) and peered with signs of agitation at a printed paper hung in the window. A casual onlooker would never have known Miss Macpherson was even faintly moved by what she read, but a close observer would have seen her mouth close tightly, her brows droop over her keen eyes, her hands clutch the parcels in her arms spasmodically. It was enough to startle any woman. Indeed, most people would have lost their heads, and done something foolish. For the contents of the paper were principally devoted to a personal description of one "Rob Fraser, a rebel at large, dressed in a kilt of the Fraser tartan with a dark coat--sixteen years and over--of strong build and dark-haired, who was in arms against the Government at Culloden and has since broken prison from Fort Augustus, skulked with desperate rebels and recently killed, in company with one called Muckle John, a notorious Jacobite, a number of his Majesty's forces in the country of Glenmoriston. Whoever shall lay the said Rob Fraser by the heels shall receive the sum of fifty pounds," and so on. There was much more, but Miss Macpherson, sick at heart, walked slowly away. It would not do for her to be seen reading the thing. Her mind was stunned for a moment. She did not notice where she went, or the passers-by. It was only when she knocked against a great man standing at the corner of the street that she started and looked up. It was Castleleathers. She knew him slightly as a distant cousin of Rob's father, but would have gone on her way had he not greeted her. "A fine day, Miss Macpherson," he said loudly, as a couple of soldiers tramped past them along the road, and then in a low tone, "have you news of Rob?" "No," she replied, "and no news is like to be good news in these times. What set him meddling with such things--the feckless loon?" He jerked his head towards his house. "Come away in," he whispered, "we must see what can be done." Together they entered the place and going upstairs came to an upper room. He was a very heavy, red-faced, helpless kind of man. His massive incompetence under stress of emergency irritated her to tartness. "It was here Rob met that soft-spoken gomeril, Muckle John," she snapped. "Aye, that it was," he replied, nodding moodily. "And I suspect the man who gave him my address that evening, Major Fraser." "Dear me, Miss Macpherson, ye say so?" "That I do, my man, and what's more he's in this very room." With a pathetic simulation of surprise Castleleathers made as though to look over his shoulder. "It's yersel'," said Miss Macpherson coldly. He tried to meet her stony stare, but failed.