"When ye mention it," he began like a man struggling to recall a distant event, "when ye mention it, maybe I did say I was second cousin to Rob who lived with his aunt near by--I'm no denying anything mind ye, I merely say maybe I did in the course of conversation, a pleasantry madam, a bit of gossip..." "It's like to be a dear bit of gossip for Rob," she retorted, "and that no so far away." "Tuts! you take too serious a view. It will all blow over--all blow over. There has been trouble before, I mind the '15, it was just the same, and before a few months had passed all the folk were going about their ways just the same and keeping their claymores oiled for the next time. Rob is a lad of spirit, Miss Macpherson, and they will not take him." But she was not listening to him. She was revolving in the depths of her mind some kind of plan, any sort of crazy plan that would save Rob. The day when he could have surrendered and escaped with a few months' imprisonment was past; he was now a notorious rebel still in arms, and associated with desperate leaders amongst the rebel army. There was no hope of shielding him until better days. It must be escape across the sea--or a pardon. But the idea of a pardon was, of course, absurd. "What can we do?" she said in a kind of restrained despair. Castleleathers blinked. "We?" he repeated vaguely. "I fear that I..." But she froze him with a single look. "I am in no mind for argument," she said, "and our business is to get Rob free. I have at the back of my head a plan of a kind, but it will need sleeping on." "But I cannot risk my neck even to assist you, Miss Macpherson." "My man," she replied grimly, "you will risk your neck if you don't. Who shielded Muckle John, that desperate rogue, in Inverness under Lord London's verra nose but just yersel'?" "How did ye know?" he whispered, much taken aback. "I didna," she replied comfortably, "but I suspected as much." "He was an old friend." "That would tickle the ears of the Duke, he has a sair grudge against Muckle John, he told me so himsel'. He said he'd willingly hang any one who gave him shelter." Castleleathers shrank back. "He said that did he?" he murmured aghast. She nodded her head. "He's no sae sure of you as it is," she added. He appeared considerably dejected at this, and said again and again that he did not know what could be done at all. "We must compel him to sign a pardon," said Miss Macpherson, "we must put the fear of death upon him, Castleleathers. You are a very large, powerful man, as great in the chest as Muckle John himsel"--she paused, eyeing him keenly--"my certes," she cried, "but there's a notion for you ... could ye no let on you were Muckle John?" "I ... Muckle John? _My dear lady_..."