"French gold," he repeated, "and how can they land gold now?" "They make for Lochnanuagh," replied Sheridan, "and...." but the Prince broke in: "Come, gentlemen," he cried, "let us to horse. We must reach Invergarry before dawn. There is no sleep for us yet awhile..." and he raised his harassed eyes to the cold sky. "My lord," he said, a moment later, taking Lovat by the hand, "do not give way to despair--we are not beaten yet." But the melancholy tone in which he sought to cheer the old man went like a chill to their hearts, and brought the old satirical grin to Lovat's mouth. "Farewell," replied the old man with all the natural dignity that neither age nor dishonour could rob him, "I doubt we shall never meet again." At that they all rose, and after shaking him by the hand passed down the stairs. He accompanied them to the door and stood with no further word while they mounted their beasts. The gillies letting the reins, fell back into the night leaving him alone. He took off his hat, but made no other sign. Of a sudden in the cold night there rang a wild tumult of horses' hoofs and they were gone as they had come. For long Lord Lovat stood in the doorway listening, with his eyes upon the black way they had taken, and then shivering violently he turned and stumbled upstairs. Out in the darkness Muckle John crept from the shadows. He had heard all or nearly all. He looked all around him and then stared at the upper window of Gortuleg. He could see the vast shadow of Lovat seated by the table waiting his fate. For a few minutes he stood pondering the situation, then on tiptoe he crossed the track and opened the door. Closing it gently, he made his way up the narrow stairs. The door to the room where Lovat sat was open. He halted in the passage and looked in. On a chair before the empty fire-grate sat the old man, his eyes fixed upon the floor, his legs crossed his fingers intertwined. His lips were moving ceaselessly, and once he frowned like a man frowns to himself who is uncertain just what course to take. At last he rose and made his way across the room and to a strong box heavily clasped. This he unlocked and opened, extracting a heap of documents and letters and laying them upon the table. Then setting fire to the peats, he began to turn over the stuff, throwing some into the flames and putting some back again into the box. "A braw night to you," said Muckle John, standing full in the doorway. The paper the old man held between his fingers fluttered gently upon the floor. Over his face there travelled a grey tinge as though he had grown of a sudden very old or ill. But he never moved nor did he say anything. Entering the room, Muckle John closed the door, and walking towards the fire set about warming his hands in the coolest manner imaginable. Then taking off his great coat he laid it over the window. "On such a night," he said, "it is better to do things quickly, my lord, and privately."