The Greatest Historical Novels & Romances of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

to him, rallying him gently, too, in those seductive tones.

      “You are a Scot, sir, a kinsman of that unfortunate gentleman who is in all our minds just now, and yet you come to the rescue of an Englishman and a Whig!”

      “It was an Englishman and a Whig, Lady Stowe, who once saved me from a far greater danger,” replied Ewen. He said it of set purpose, for he wished to discover if she knew what her elder son had been to him.

      Apparently Lady Stowe did not, nor was she curious to learn to what he referred, for she merely said: “Indeed; that is gratifying!” and, in fact, before the subject could be enlarged upon from either side, Lord Stowe was remarking to the guest by way of conversation suitable to his nationality, “My son has recently been visiting Scotland for the first time.”

      The menace of Aveling returned to Ewen’s memory. By the tense it seemed as if that young gentleman had now returned from the North.

      “You are from the Highlands, I suppose, Mr. Cameron,” went on the Earl pleasantly. “My son visited them also for a short while, going to Dunstaffnage Castle in Lorne. Do you happen to know it?”

      Ewen intimated that he did, from the outside. And now a voice was crying out to him to end the difficult situation in which he stood (though neither his host nor his hostess was aware of it) by offering of his own will some explanation of the episode at Dalmally. For, with this mention of Lord Aveling in the Highlands, not to acknowledge that they had made each other’s acquaintance there seemed so unnatural and secretive as to throw an even worse light upon his behaviour towards him. At the very least it made him appear ashamed of it. He pulled himself together for the plunge.

      “I must tell you, my lord——” he was beginning, when his voice was withered on his lips by an extraordinary grating, screeching sound which, without warning, rent the air of the great drawing-room. Startled as at some supernatural intervention, Ewen glanced hastily round in search of its source.

      “Do not be alarmed, Mr. Cameron,” came Lady Stowe’s cool tones through the disturbance. “ ’Tis only that my macaw has waked up . . . but I apologise for the noise he makes.”

      And then the Highlander beheld, in a corner not very far away, a gilded cage, and therein a large bird of the most gorgeous plumage, with a formidable curved beak and a tail of fire and azure, who was pouring forth what sounded like a stream of imprecations.

      “For Heaven’s sake!” cried the Earl, jumping to his feet. “I thought you had given up having that creature in this room, my lady! Is there no means to make him stop?” For the deafening scolding went on without intermission.

      Lady Stowe leant forward. “If you will have the goodness to cover him up,” she said with complete calm, “he will be quiet.”

      Both men looked round helplessly for something with which to carry out this suggestion; Ewen, too, had got to his feet. “Cover him up with what, pray?” asked Lord Stowe indignantly. “Good Gad, this is insupportable!” And, slightly red in the face, he tugged at the nearest bell-pull. Meanwhile the infernal screeching continued unceasingly, except for one short moment when the macaw made a vicious grab at the Earl’s lace-bordered handkerchief, with which he was exasperatedly flapping the bars of the cage in an endeavour to silence its inmate.

      A footman appeared. “Remove this bird at once!” shouted his master angrily. (He was obliged to shout.) The man hesitated.

      “Montezuma will bite him, and he knows it,” observed Lady Stowe, raising her voice but slightly. “Send Sambo, John.”

      The man bowed and withdrew with alacrity. “This is worse than footpads!” declared the Earl, with his hands to his ears. “I cannot sufficiently apologise, Mr. Cameron!”—he had almost to bawl the words. “Really, my lady, if I could wring your pet’s neck without getting bitten, I would!”

      “I know it, my love,” returned her ladyship, with her slow, charming smile. “And so, I am sure, would poor Mr. Cameron.”

      Then black Sambo appeared in his scarlet turban and jutting white plume. Smiling broadly, he strutted off with the great gilt cage, whose occupant continued to scream, but made no onslaught upon those dusky fingers.

      “I really cannot sufficiently apologise,” began the Earl once more to his half-deafened guest, “for my wife’s fancy——”

      “What?” called a young, laughing voice from the door, “has Montezuma been misbehaving again?” Someone had come in just as the exiled and vociferating fowl was borne out. “But for that noise, I had thought you gone to bed by this time. You promised, my dear mother, that he——” But here the speaker realised that there was a stranger in his family circle, pulled out a handkerchief, flicked some probably imaginary grains of powder off his gleaming coat, and advanced across the wilderness of carpet to the three by the sofa, a veritable Prince Charming in peach-coloured satin and a deal of lace. And Ewen, watching his fate advance upon him in the person of this smiling and elegant young man, silently cursed the departed macaw with a mortification a thousand times deeper than the Earl’s. But for that ridiculous contretemps he might either have made his confession, or escaped meeting his late victim, or both.

      But there was no escape now. Lord Aveling, still smiling, got within a yard or two of the group when he saw who the stranger was. He stopped; the smile died, his face froze, and the hand with the filmy handkerchief fell, gripping the Mechlin.

      Lord Stowe must have been blind had he not noticed the startling change on the countenance of his heir. But, if not blind, he was possibly short-sighted, for he did not by any means appear to read its full significance.

      “You are surprised to see a guest here so late, Aveling, I perceive,” he said mildly, “but you will be still more surprised when you learn the reason for this gentleman’s presence to-night.”

      “I’ve no doubt at all that I shall,” said Lord Aveling under his breath. He had never removed his eyes from Ewen; they seemed to say, almost as clear as speech, “You cannot have had the insolence to make your way in here to apologise!”

      “I was this evening,” went on Lord Stowe with empressement, “the victim of a murderous attack—perhaps you have already heard of it from the servants.”

      “An attack!” repeated Lord Aveling, at last turning his gaze upon his parent. “On whose part—this gentleman’s?”

      “Good Gad, Aveling, what can you be thinking of?” exclaimed his father, shocked. “This gentleman, Mr. Cameron of Ardroy, had the great goodness to risk his own person for mine—Mr. Cameron, this is my son, Lord Aveling.”

      Ewen bowed, not very deeply.

      “An introduction is not necessary, my lord,” observed Lord Aveling. “We met not long ago in Scotland, Mr. Cameron and I.” And with that he turned his back carelessly on the guest and went over to the sofa to speak to his mother.

      Lord Stowe looked as if he could hardly believe his ears or eyes, partly at this announcement, partly at the sight of his son’s uncivil behaviour. “You met in Scotland!” he repeated after a moment, in tones of amazement.

      “I was just on the point of making that fact known to your lordship,” said Ewen, “when the bird interrupted me.” He was white with chagrin. “Lord Aveling and I did, indeed, meet as he was returning from Dunstaffnage Castle.”

      “Yes,” cut in the young man, turning round again, “and owing to a difficulty over posthorses I had the privilege—as I see I must now consider it—of offering Mr. Cameron a seat in my chaise as far as Dalmally.”

      “My dear Aveling, why did you not tell us this before?” asked Lady Stowe.

      “How could I guess that it would be of any interest to you to learn that I gave a lift to a stranger in the wilds of Scotland? It would have seemed, my dear mother, to be laying too much stress upon a deed of charity. Moreover, I can affirm, with my hand upon my heart, that Mr. Cameron of Ardroy is the last person in the world whom I expected to find in this house.”

      His