She held out one of the goblets while he filled it and let the other drop. He put his lips to it, then held it out to her with something like a challenge in his eyes. “Drink with me, Helen Fraser.” She took it, drank, and gave it back to him with the same unmoved smile. “Now we are pledged friends,” he cried. “But wait—ye shall break bread with me—” “I cannot eat,” she said. “Believe me—I am sick with weariness.” He looked at her keenly over the brim of the brilliant wine-cup. “Ye shall do it,” he said. “I would be allied with thy clan.” He broke the bread and salt that to him formed a rite impossible to violate and gave it her with eager blue eyes on her face. She took it slowly, afraid to show reluctance, and ate a little while he watched her closely. Then he put one of the skins on the log and another under her feet, and stirred up the fire to give her warmth. She had become very silent; she took his care with no thanks, passively, but all the while her jewel-like eyes were covertly studying him. He came and sat opposite to her; his huge shadow dancing behind him. Between them lay her steaming red coat, the gold wine-cups, and the elegant French bottle, brilliant on the mud floor. Outside the rain was coming down less heavily, but the wind had risen and they could hear the rocking of the fir-trees. She spoke at last, in her quiet voice: “Do you go to the conference Breadalbane holds at Glenorchy?” she asked. “You know he calls the Highlands thither to treat of peace—and loyalty to the new King.” Macdonald laughed: “And the gold he hath to buy us fills his own coffers—there will be no peace while Jock Campbell treats,” he answered. “But many great chiefs have gone,” she said, “And the whole force of the new King is behind Breadalbane—” “We may go,” replied Macdonald. “But we will not take the oaths.” Another silence fell; she stirred the smoldering peat with her foot; he seemed to be utterly absorbed in watching her; she had taken his wild fancy most suddenly, most completely. “I must go on,” she said at last. “They will be searching for me.” She rose and put back her glittering hair. “And I will go with you,” said Macdonald, rising too. She looked over her shoulder; seemed to hesitate, a drift of the peat smoke floated between them, through it he saw her face, white, calm, and her narrow, brilliant eyes. She picked up her damp coat and hat. “I can go alone if you will put me on my road to Loch Awe,” she said. “It cannot be far.” “Too far for you alone,” he cried. “You—surely you are afraid?” Helen Fraser put on her coat and turned up the great collar before she answered. “And are not you afraid to go any further through Jock Campbell’s lands?” He was stung by her poise and strangeness. “Helen Fraser, ye are mad to think to go alone!” She had caught up her hat and very swiftly opened the rough door. The first blast of the wind made her shudder, but she stepped out into the rain with a resolute carriage.