“Nay—because the Hielands are clear o’ the thieves—we canna forget, when we see Argyllshire and Invernesshire free to the Campbells, when we can ride unarmed with nae to question us—lords o’ the Hielands. Ye say weel we canna forget.” She warmed a little in response to his tone. “I dinna regret or repent,” she said. “Hate o’ the Macdonalds is in the bluid—it is na sorrow for them but fear—fear maybe, Jock, o’ the reckoning.” “We shallna’ pay, Peggy—Lord Stair will answer to that.” Lady Breadalbane was silent, only something like a sigh escaped her. The last candle sank into darkness; only the pale light of the stars and the street lamps without illumined the room. “And he _will_ pay,” said Breadalbane. She started from a reverie. “Who?” “Lord Stair.” “Ye think he will be ruined?” “What else? They will put it all on him—the King canna do less than dismiss him.” “Weel, Jock, we dinna care.” “Nay—I never liked him.” “Nor I—and his wife, Jock, is a fule.” “She willna’ abide by him if he be ruined.” “She will leave him, Jock—ye think?” “I know and he knows—she hasna’ a tie to hold her—she will be blithe of his disgrace.” “She hates him—weel, I never knew ony that loved a Dalrymple—they say Lord Stair’s mither wad sit on her husband’s judgment seat in the likeness o’ a black cat—an she hated him—there is somewhat uncanny in the bluid—ye couldna’ love a Dalrymple.” “Yet Lord Stair is the handsomest gentleman in Scotland, Peggy,” smiled Breadalbane. “Weel—he is na winning—an there is too much of the auld Viscount, wha made his neck awry striving to listen to the divil, aboot him.” “The divil must be Lord Stair’s advocate noo—for there is no one else in Scotland will be.” A silence while they gazed at the paling sky through the long windows; then Breadalbane spoke. “Peggy—when we gang back to the Hielands—we’ll ride through the Glen o’ Weeping, ye and I—and ye shall hae anither picture o’ it to think on after, when the badges and music o’ the Campbells glitter and ring through the ruins o’ Glencoe.” “Jock—I am a fule—I dinna regret.” “Peggy—my dear, my dear!” She looked up at him through the vague gray light. “Jock!” she said passionately. “I am content—an’ no afraid o’ the living or the—dead.” CHAPTER IV THE LIE ACCOMPLISHED It was toward the end of June; the commissioners had produced their report on the Glencoe affair, yielding to the public demand to behold their conclusions before the pleasure of the absent King was taken.