“I fling your word of thief back at ye, Jock Campbell!” He was striding forward when his brother and father caught him by either arm. “We must have no fighting,” cried Ronald in Gaelic. “There are a hundred Campbells here—woe that we ever came!” Breadalbane, holding himself erect, smiled coldly at them; he had himself well under control; Makian glancing at his set face felt it had been a mistake to cross his threshold. There was an intense pause; Ronald scowled till his blue eyes were hidden; the wily old chief with one hand tightly on Ian’s arm was considering a means to conciliate or to outwit the Earl. Breadalbane looked at the silent Ardkinglass behind him, then back at the three Highlanders and his lids drooped till his eyes were hidden. The silence was broken by the opening of the heavy door, and the quick entry of a woman. It was the Countess Peggy. She wore a green coat and there was some heavy brown fur about her neck; she carried her hat in her hand and on her shoulders and in her red curls was a faint powdering of snow. At sight of the three Highlanders she stepped back and the color rushed into her face. And Ronald had seen her; he turned full to where she stood and cried: “Helen Fraser!” The two Macdonalds stared at him; but he, breathing fast and flushing, took no heed of them; it was as if the mere sight of her had uplifted him from all thought of aught beside. The Earl came, very softly, nearer, but he made no attempt to interpose when Ronald strode up to the woman. “Helen Fraser!” he cried passionately, “what do ye under a Campbell’s roof? Ah, God, ye broke bread with me and I cannot forget—I forgive that ye turned on me, Helen Fraser.” She cut him short: “I am Margaret Campbell,” she said, very white, “and that man’s wife.” She pointed to Breadalbane with a smile of unutterable pride and before the glitter of her green eyes Ronald fell back. “But—ye broke bread with me,” he stammered like a stricken man—“and ye are—Jock Campbell’s wife!” He glared round him with bewildered eyes: they were all silent, held in a tense hush. The Countess glanced at her husband, then back to the magnificent figure of Macdonald. He stared at the Earl with wide eyes, stormy and inscrutable; he spoke very slowly: “So I have kissed Jock Campbell’s wife!” and he laughed, as if there were tears in his voice. The thing was done; with a sound like a rip of silk the Earl’s sword was out and the light ran down the length of it before the eyes of the Macdonalds. “Take the steel’s welcome to Kilchurn!” he cried in their own language “Thieves and liars! do ye think Campbell o’ Glenorchy is to be insulted in his own castle?” In a second the Highland dirks were out and the Countess had cried to Ardkinglass: “Call my cousin, Colin—in the name of God haste!” He dashed from the room and she flung herself forward, with eager eyes on her husband.