A look of relief crossed her face, she gave a little gasping sigh. “You are generous,” she said falteringly, “and I foolish—and ashamed—” “I have seen strange things in an adventurer’s career, Miss Delia,” he smiled, “but never any one ashamed with no cause.” She stood abashed, yet comforted; gratitude that he had not guessed and fear that he might struggled together at her heart; she resolved on escape. “Good-night,” she said, and held out her hand. His cool, firm palm touched her trembling hot fingers; she gave him a wistful look. “Thank you—Jerome,” she said, and with a sweep of skirts was gone. He noted the way she gave him his name as a great mark of confidence, and smiled quietly. “So she is in love with that Highlander,” he said to himself, “and thinks her heart broken!” He shrugged his shoulders; then yawned and picked the candle up. “Perseus is remarkably obtuse,” he reflected. “Poor lady!” And he yawned again. CHAPTER VI HATE MEETS HATE The Earl of Breadalbane bit his pen and stared thoughtfully out of the window at the gloomy shores of Loch Awe. He sat in a small chamber contrived by a modern architect out of one of the Gothic halls of the old castle; it was well furnished and contained the luxuries (rare in the Highlands), of a carpet, wall-hangings and a sideboard with a mirror. These things, however, were none of them new; the Earl’s chair showed the horsehair through the broken leather and the carpet in front of his bureau was worn threadbare; the Earl was a wealthy man and a proud, but above everything prudent; he kept his French furniture for Edinburgh and used here things that had served when he was merely Sir John Campbell of Glenorchy. A sheet of paper was before him; clear save for the heading: “To Sir John Dalrymple, Master of Stair.” The Earl was very clear as to what he wished to write to the Secretary; it was merely to inform him that there was little likelihood of many of the clans coming in by the prescribed time; to advise him that the new regiment of his cousin, Argyll, should be armed and quartered in Glasgow with as little disturbance as possible. But it was not so easy to couch this in terms satisfactory to his own cautious mind; it must be in his own hand, his name attached; there must be possibility of a perfectly innocent construing of it if ever it were produced. Breadalbane had often raised his eyebrows of late at the letters the Master of Stair put his hand to; the utterly reckless letters of a man too powerful to heed caution.