Mr. Secretary went off as envoy to fetch the chiefs to Exeter House, where the Prince received them in his little private chamber overlooking the gardens. He would stand, silent and moody, glowering out of the window, with the Colonel and me standing silent and thoughtful behind him. I felt keenly for him, for he was indeed a gracious, likeable young fellow, born to purple poverty and a shadowy princedom, and now, as he thought, with the reality of wealth and power snatched out of his grasp. "If we go back," said he, turning his eyes on me, so that I saw how life and light had quite gone out of them, "it's all over with my House." "I hope not, sir," said I. "I know it is," he cried bitterly, almost rudely. "All over with us--and all over with me. If we go on, I shall at the worst go to my grave strong and sweet. If we go back--" He paused and looked moodily out of the window. I think now, as I picture him to myself standing there, that he knew himself well enough to know what was coming. For another picture of him comes to my mind, as I saw him in Rome many years later, and shuddered as I saw him. He turned and smiled at me, as one smiles who sips sour wine. "If we go back, friend Wheatman, I shall just rot into it." He spoke truth. I saw him rotting. And then, because he had more stuff in him than any other royal Stuart that ever lived, he turned round, proud and princely, as the door opened and in came Mr. Secretary with Macdonald of Glencoe, a short-horned bull of a man. "And when was it," said he, rapping the words out like hammer-strokes on an anvil, "that the Macdonalds got feart?" The Chief pulled up short, hit clean and hard between the eyes. "Ye'll never see a feart Macdonald," he said, "if ye live to be as auld as Ben Nevis." "Ye're in the wrong, Glencoe," said Charles. "I saw one this morning, and he was frightened of the English." "I'll gie ye the lie o' that," roared Glencoe, "if I hae to scrat my way into London wi' ma nails." "I'll be glad of the lie from you on those terms," replied Charles calmly, "and you shall ride into London at my right hand while I take my words back." The Prince went to a table and filled a silver-gilt tass with brandy. He sipped it and then, handing it to the Chief, said, "We'll share the same glass to-day, Glencoe, as a pledge that we'll share the same victory to-morrow." I did not like his brandy-drinking, but he did it well this time. As I have said, he was at his best in dealing with a single man face to face. It is only the rarest and finest spirits that can dominate a crowd. At a sign from the Prince the Colonel and I escorted the Chief to the door, bestowing on him, as was due and politic, every courtesy. He looked like a man who, after days of doubt, had newly found himself.