“I shall get letters of fire and sword from the government,” said Breadalbane, “and clear the Hielands of the Macdonalds.” There fell a little pause; the two utterly absorbed in themselves and each other did not notice or heed the falling fire and guttering candles or the lifting wail of the storm without. The Countess spoke; under her breath: “But at Edinburgh—in England, where they want the Hielands quiet—will they no demand an account of ye?—will they support ye?” The room was growing cold; unconsciously she felt it and shivered, drawing closer to her husband. “I have the most powerful man in Scotland behind me,” said the Earl slowly. “And he has great weight in England—is a close friend of the King—and he is no’ willing for the Hielands to take the oaths.” “Who do you mean?” she questioned eagerly. A dying log on the hearth fell and broke into a shower of sparks; a gust of wind blew down the chimney. “The Master of Stair,” said Breadalbane. “Being the Secretary and a close friend of the King, he can do what he will with Scotland.” “Yet I do think he is the most hated man in the country,” mused the Countess. “I did notice a fury of hate in Edinburgh against his father and him—he couldna’ be more unpopular.” “I dinna care,” smiled Breadalbane. “He has the power—and a fine ability. He wasna’ for buying the Hielands. Put the money into powder and shot, he said—and now, when we’ve been dealing with them for two years in vain—he says the same.” “Weel, then,” she cried. “All ye have to do is to wait till after the first day of January. Then get the letters of fire and sword—and the Master of Stair will support ye.” “Both he and his father,” he answered. “Both the Dalrymples. If any take the oaths, weel, they’ll be within the law—but, as the King said to Balcarras—let those who stay without the law, look to it—as they must expect to be left to the law.” He rose abruptly and crossed to the fire, where the last light from the glowing embers was reflected in his cuirass. His wife followed him with shining eyes; it was the first time even she had so enjoyed his confidence; the first time he had so spoken of his affairs, though he had always been assured of her passionate sympathy. He fell into silence as he leaned against the heavy chimneypiece and she noticed that his delicate face had fallen into lines of weariness. “Ye look tired, Jock,” she said tenderly. “Unlace me,” he smiled. “This thing is heavy.” She came up and unstrapped his armor; as he shook himself free of it, he gave a sigh of relief. “I shallna’ need to be riding my own lands armed when the Macdonalds of Glencoe are—weel, treated as to their desserts,” he remarked as he shook out his crumpled buff coat. As she laid down his cuirass he spoke again: “What was the name of this Macdonald to-day?” he asked quietly. “Ronald—the chief’s son he said,” she answered. Breadalbane yawned, then glanced with half-shut eyes at his sword hilt.