And he swung out of the recess into the ball-room. Lady Stair looked after him, and her gentle face grew hard: her delicate hand waved her fan to and fro, slowly under her chin; she stood erect, silent. The music crept to her ears in a slow melody; the gently moving fan kept time with it; with narrowed eyes she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. It was a tragic face she saw there, a hopeless face. With a curious impulse, she leaned forward and kissed the lips of her reflection, kissed the cold glass and smiled into her own eyes, with an utter sadness. CHAPTER III THE TRIUMPH OF THE CAMPBELLS The guests had gone; the roses hung limp and faded; guttering, dying candles cast a dull light over the Countess Peggy as she stood in her deserted ball-room. She leaned against a mirror; her red hair fell over her bare white shoulders and purple dress; at her bosom drooped a cluster of crimson roses; with anxious eyes she looked at the gray-clad figure of her husband, who sat beside her in an attitude of utter weariness. “What will be the end of it, Jock?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Ruin for the Earl o’ Stair,” he answered, “They’ve set their minds to it, Tweeddale and his crew, and they’ll na be letting him escape, there is enough against him to hang him—though he’ll no’ be persuaded of it.” “Let Lord Stair go,” said the Countess, “I dinna care—what will be the end of it for _ye_, Jock?” He gave her a tender look. “Why—they hay’na’ ony evidence against me, Peggy—I didna’ put my name to rash letters—they canna prove onything—I’m safe enow—and sae is Argyll—though he is half-demented wi’ fear.” “But this trumped up foolery o’ Glenlyon feasting a fortnicht in the Glen, Jock—that touches us—” The Earl smiled. “It doesna’—Glenlyon had his commands frae Hamilton na frae me—and Glenlyon—Glenlyon hae been bought by the Jacks—I hae heard—this vera evening—that he hae appeared and will be examined before the commissioners.” “But however Glenlyon lee—we can disprove that the Campbells were in the Glen a fortnicht.” “We can,” answered the Earl, “but we willna’. Dinna ye see, Peggy—we must ken naething o’ what occurred—we were miles awa’—at Kilchurn, we must say—we ken naething—naething. If we disprove lees that dinna harm us we must reveal the truth—which wad be vera damaging.” “Then Lord Stair will indeed be ruined,” said the Countess slowly. “But it is na ony business o’ ours. Ye may trust my silence, Jock.” She moved to the window and pulled aside the curtain; the stars hung bright and luminous above the sleeping city; a church clock struck one. The Countess Peggy leaned her head against the mullions and her face fell into lines of weariness; she twisted the ends of her bright hair in and out of slack fingers and the withered roses on her breast, crushed against the window-frame, shed their faded leaves at her feet.