“Nevertheless,” answered Jerome, “he holds Scotland in the hollow of his hand, he is a close friend of William of Orange, all powerful at St. James’s, he is hand and glove with Breadalbane and Carstairs and his father, Sir James—curse him.” He brought the last words out so fiercely that the others started. “They defeat me at every turn, these men,” he continued passionately. “But, by God, they shall not get the Highlands!” He turned the soft face that was at variance with his speech toward Perseus. “That is the question of issue now,” he said. “The Highlanders must take the oaths, the government decrees it.” “Ay,” answered Sir Perseus, “and the government does not want the decree carried out. The government may, but the Master of Stair and Breadalbane have other plans—don’t you see?” “Yes,” nodded Sir Perseus, “they want the Highlands to put themselves outside the law.” “So that you may quiet them forever with the cold steel,” finished Jerome. “Breadalbane wants to wipe out the hated clans—the Master of Stair wants to exterminate this pariah race that harries the government—but we—we want to keep alive the Highlands for King James—and we will do it!” “Then they must take the oaths?” whispered Delia breathlessly. “And break them when need be,” answered Jerome, “but they must take them—so that those who count upon their refusal may be defeated.” “The Master of Stair does not think they will?” asked Sir Perseus. “No—nor yet Breadalbane—they count upon them refusing to take the oath a Campbell administers—they are waiting eagerly for the first of January—then—letters of fire and sword and war to the death in the Highlands.” “What can we do?” asked Delia eagerly. Jerome Caryl lifted his intense eyes to her flushed face. “Miss Delia—the Highlands must be warned of the vengeance preparing for them.” The girl nodded, with sparkling eyes; but Sir Perseus questioned: “How?” “That,” answered Jerome Caryl, “is what I have come to consult with you about—after I had clearly seen the objects of these men there seemed but that one thing to do—to warn the Highlands and give them King James’s permission to take the oaths.” “But—” said Sir Perseus, “do we not by that lose the support of the Highlands—if we should—as I hope to—organize a rising in Scotland?” “No—a Highlander does not look on an oath as a sacred thing, my dear Perseus, ’tis said Breadalbane himself tells them to take Prince William’s money to spend for King James—and under what possible pretext can we continue to ask them to hold out? The King’s last gift was a few bottles of wine—let them take the thousands of the government and buy muskets with it for our use.” “Do you think,” answered Sir Perseus—“that we can overcome the fierce hate of the Campbells? Will the clans submit to Breadalbane whatever we say?” “If they are frightened enough,” said Jerome. “If they realize that all England is behind him they will submit.” Delia broke in suddenly: