“She gets onto a note very irritating to the nerves,” he remarked. “It is astonishing how few women will learn to use their words with effect—they throw at you all they can think of—then burst into tears—which is neither logical nor pleasing.” The Master of Stair made no answer; at his feet was a beautiful pink rose his wife had dropped; he picked it up and flung it into the fire. The Viscount shut his book and turned with a yawn. “I saw the King to-day,” he said. “He asked where you were—Argyll and Breadalbane are desirous to see you about these Highlands.” “Yes,” said the Master gloomily. “But the damned thieves have all come in except the Macdonalds of Glencoe—which minds me. I should send those letters to-night—I have the maps of Glencoe. The pass of Rannoch must be secured. The Laird of Weem must close Strath Tay—then with Breadalbane one side, Argyll the other—I think I have the villains.” The Viscount drew a paper out of his desk. “I had the report from Scotland this morning,” he said composedly. “The Macdonalds have taken the oath.” The Master of Stair turned, incredulous, furious. “Taken the oath!” he cried. “Yes.” His father twisted his wry neck over the paper. “So the commander of the forces says.” Sir John stood silent a moment; when he spoke it was in a quiet tone. “It need make no difference—I have vowed to make an example of those Glencoe men and will do it.” The Viscount nodded. “As Lord President of the Court of Session I could suppress this,” he said. “And you as Prime Minister for Scotland should be able to accomplish the rest.” “Yes,” answered the Master. “I must write to Hill who commands in Fort William—he must be removed—the second in command, Hamilton, is an able man.” “But first you must see Breadalbane,” said the Viscount. “Better go carefully.” Sir John lifted his shoulders with a magnificent gesture of disregard. “I have put myself above caution, my lord,” he said. “Give me the letter—” He took it eagerly from his father. “This must be shown to the King?” he questioned. “Yes.” “Lend me your pen, my lord.” The Viscount handed him the quill, and Sir John dashed it through the passage relating to the Macdonalds. “If it become necessary to show this paper your lordship can do so,” he said. “And I will do the same for the minutes that are to go before the Council at Edinburgh.” His father laughed. “A bold way of handling difficulties, John,” he commented. “It needs boldness to deal with these cursed Jacks,” answered the Master fiercely. “I am going to teach them a lesson this time—they have defied us and laughed at us long enough. This race of thieves goes—utterly.” The Viscount suddenly rose with a little sound of warning. Sir John turned. Close behind them stood Lady Dalrymple. She saw by their faces their thought, and drew herself together defiantly. “I was not spying,” she cried feverishly. “You did not hear me enter.” “You were remarkably quiet, madam,” remarked the Viscount dryly.