She gave him a frightened look and in a strained silence crossed to the hearth. “I dropped a flower,” she said faintly. “I came back for that.” She looked along the floor and in the chair. “Do not trouble, madam,” said her husband, watching her. “I make no doubt Mr. Wharton’s hothouses can supply you with others.” Lady Dalrymple lifted her head, and stared at him with parted lips and flushed face, and a curious little movement of her hand like horror. “The Queen gave it to me for Harry’s grave,” she said simply. The Master of Stair flushed and started as if from a blow. “You have burnt it?” asked Lady Dalrymple, with a glance at the fire. The silence answered her. “Well, well,” she said desperately, “I suppose you do not care that his little grave should go bare—only—to-morrow was his birthday—good-night, sir.” She went quietly out of the room. The Viscount glanced sideways at his son’s face, and was silent. CHAPTER XIV THE CURSE OF THE DALRYMPLES The Earl of Breadalbane smiled into the gloomy face of the Master of Stair. “They hav’na’ taken the oaths,” he said. “I’m no’ likely to be deceived. I have clear reports sent by Glenlyon—and certainly the Macdonalds couldna’ take the oaths without his knowledge.” He glanced round on the three men assembled in the massive drawing-room of the Dalrymples; the Viscount, cool and immovable as himself; Argyll, restless and ill at ease, the Master of Stair, dark and impatient. “So we may proceed,” he continued, “without any fear o’ offending the law.” “My lord,” said the Master of Stair, “we should have proceeded in any case. I have struck out the statement that the Macdonalds took the oath.” Argyll looked up. “’Tis a dangerous method, Sir John,” he said nervously. “It would look ugly if it ever came to light, ye ken, and there are a plenty of people would gladly turn it about to work our ruin.” Breadalbane answered: “Hav’na’ I said, cousin, that they ha’ no’ come in? Therefore we are in our just rights to be punishing avowed traitors.” “My Lord Argyll,” smiled the Viscount, “you need not fear to embark on an enterprise that your cousin’s caution deems safe.” Argyll, detecting the sneer, grew peevish. “Aweel,” he replied, “an’ the enterprise is so safe and lawful show me the warrant for it, my lords.” The Master of Stair turned impatiently in his chair. “I will be your warrant, my lord,” he said. “I am the first minister in Scotland. I take the responsibility.” “Ay?” answered Argyll. “But you are not so high, Sir John, that you cannot fall. And I’ll no’ mix in this without other safeguard.” “What?” demanded the Master haughtily. “The King’s command.” “The King’s command is in his proclamation that all clans not taking the oaths are to be dealt with by the law,” answered the Master.