“Does Breadalbane think they willna’ come in?” he asked. “Cousin, he is sure of it—vera few will.” “Ah!” Argyll gave a luxurious little sigh of satisfaction. “I thought so—I had orders to quarter my regiment at Dunblane—and quietly.” “Orders frae the Master of Stair?” “Yes.” “He is at Kensington noo?” asked the Countess. “Yes—he and Carstairs rule Scotland between them—the King gives no ear to any other.” “And he, the Master—is ane with Jock!” she said eagerly. “And there are only twa weeks more—cousin—I think the thing is done.” Some animation came into Argyll’s languid eyes. “Almost, I think so,” he said. “Breadalbane goes to London soon?” “He comes up frae Kilchurn to-morrow,” she answered, “and will be ready to accompany ye to Court.” Their eyes met. “He will see the King?” asked Argyll. “And the Master of Stair,” she answered. “And ’twill be done. We shall come back to the Hielands in the new year. The plans are laid.” A little half-foolish smile crept round Argyll’s weak mouth. “’Twill gratify me vastly to see those Hielanders swept out,” he said. “’Twill be a blow to the hopes of King James ye ken,” remarked the Countess. Argyll looked up quickly: “Ye think so?” he asked. He always showed a great respect for his cousin’s opinion, consulted her and deferred to her in a way her husband never did, and she despised him in proportion. “Ye think there is no hope for King James?” he asked again, half-anxiously. She looked full at him and laughed. “Cousin, cousin,” she cried. “Dinna gang ower far with the Jacks because I dinna imagine that there _is_ much hope for King James.” He stared at her, went red and white, and his tea-cup danced in his hand. “Madam!” he gasped. Her look of amusement deepened. “I ken vera weel,” she said, “that ye are tampering with King James’s agents—weel, cousin, we all do the same. A wise man will be keeping square with both sides.” Argyll, looking agitated and foolish, began to protest. “Cousin, I assure ye that I have na engaged in any treasonable plots—” She cut him short. “Ye need no’ be so cautious with me, Cousin Archibald.” He looked at her, half-reassured, but the memory of his grandfather’s and his father’s fate was strong within him. He spoke peevishly. “Dinna talk so freely o’ these dangerous subjects—I hav’na’ a wish to be traveling to Holland again.” “Leave plotting alone then,” she answered with flashing eyes; her lord, she thought, not this poltroon, should have been MacCallum More. “I hav’na’ been plotting,” retorted the Earl angrily. “I was approached by an agent of James—Jerome Caryl—he had some great names—some great names—he spoke....” His voice sank—“Of a rising in the spring—the French have offered troops and Berwick is coming over.” “And you?” “Weel, I hedged—I spoke him fair, but I said nothing dangerous—mark ye, nothing dangerous.” His eyes wandered round the room furtively; he was eager to change the subject, a little afraid of this sharp wife of his cousin’s.