The Master of Stair 29

Down the whole gloomy length she went slowly with a weary air of

hopelessness; the Viscount looked up from his book, watched her and

when the door closed on her gave a little sigh of relief.

 

“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.

 

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.

 

“Aweel,” said Argyll shrewdly, “then it should be no trouble to ye, Sir

John, to obtain a warrant from His Majesty for the destruction o’ the

Macdonalds o’ Glencoe.”

 

“It is not needful,” frowned Sir John.

 

But the Viscount leaned forward across the table.

 

“I think the King’s consent is needful,” he said; he glanced at

Breadalbane, whose light eyes rested very disdainfully on his cousin.

“What do you think, my lord?”

 

“As they hav’na’ taken the oaths,” answered Breadalbane, “we are within

the law—yet I’m no’ saying that precautions are onnecessary.”