She was silent, one hand over her bosom; with the other she pushed her plate aside; she was quite white. “I know,” she said faintly, “But I cannot eat—I will go to bed.” “That is folly,” answered Sir Perseus curtly. Then he turned to Jerome and added in a lowered voice: “Did you speak to the Earl?” “Why not?” asked Jerome calmly. “I asked him for the room and he gave it me—cold and stiff but courteous. His wife is beautiful—is she not?” They commenced their supper, but Delia sat miserably silent, with absent eyes. “The Macdonalds have not taken the oath,” beat in her head. “The Macdonalds have not taken the oath!” The hostess in clumsy hurry left the door ajar behind her, enough for them to see across the passage where in the doorway of the opposite room stood the Countess with her sleeves rolled up over her white elbows, and flour on her hands, her face was turned to the stairway, upon it a lovely smile. Jerome fixed on her his mournful eyes, then, as he watched, Breadalbane crossed the passage and entered the room. The Countess closed the door. “I saw a woman like that once—in a dream,” said Jerome. “The face was strangely impressed on my mind.” Sir Perseus, eating lustily, asked: “What was she doing in your dream?” Jerome gave his grieving smile. “She was strangling me with a long lace tie,” he said slowly. Sir Perseus laughed, but Delia broke out passionately: “A cold Scotswoman! I loathe her—she _would_ strangle you if it needed—her eyes are hard as stones.” “Delia!” cried Sir Perseus. “The place is overrun with Campbells—have a care—they have a whole body-guard of Highlanders at the back—” “And yet she does servants’ work,” said Delia. “She is devoted to him,” answered Jerome. “A strange thing!” flashed Delia. “Nay—give her credit for her greatest virtue,” he replied. “She would do anything for Breadalbane. I think he is very fortunate.” Delia bit her lip and dropped her eyes under Jerome’s calm gaze; she was nervous, excited, almost beyond bearing; she rose up impatiently. “Mr. Caryl—you told me the Macdonalds had taken the oath,” she said with burning cheeks. “And she—this woman—told me they had not—and she should know.” Jerome turned in his chair to look on her. “Why—’tis not January yet,” he said gently. “There is time—I have assurance from Lochiel that all the clans will take the oaths.” Sir Perseus put in curtly. “And what matter for the Macdonalds if the others come in? They had their warning....” Delia moved round the room restlessly with her head lifted, her eyes fixed absently. “Believe me,” said Jerome softly, “we can do no more than we have.” “No, no,” she answered hastily, “’tis only it surprised me—they leave it late.” Jerome caught a questioning look on Sir Perseus’s face and delicately changed the subject.