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

. . . in that place.” She seemed to shrink from naming the Tower.

      “Yes, he is in very good hands there,” answered Ewen; and felt a shock run through him at the other interpretation which might be wrested from his speech.

      “And you think, do you not, that there is . . .” But Mrs. Cameron could not bring out the little word which meant so much, and she bit her lip again, and harder.

      “I think that there is a great deal of hope, madam,” said Ewen gently, in his grave, soft voice. “And now that you have come, there is even more than there was, for if you have any purpose of petitioning, all popular feeling will be with you.”

      “Yes, I thought . . . I have been drawing up an appeal. . . .” She sought in her reticule. “Perhaps you would look at what I have roughly written—’tis here at the end.” And into his hand she put a little paper-covered book. Opening it where it naturally opened, Ewen saw that it was a record of household accounts, and that on a page opposite the daily entries made at Lille, sometimes in English, sometimes in French, for ‘bread’, or ‘coffee’, ‘pain de sucre’, or ‘stuffe for Margret’s gowne’, figured alien and tremendous terms, ‘Majesty’ and ‘life’ and ‘pardon’.

      “I thought that when I had made a fair copy I would present the petition to the Elector at Kensington Palace on Sunday.”

      “Yes,” said Ewen. “But you will need an escort. May I have the great honour?”

      Mrs. Cameron gave a little exclamation of pleasure, soon checked. “Archie tells me that you have got into serious trouble with the Government on his account. You should not show yourself in so public a place, and with me.”

      “No one would dream of looking for me at Kensington Palace. Moreover, I have someone to answer for me now,” said Ewen, smiling down at her. And he told her about Lord Stowe.

      (2)

      When, that afternoon, Ewen had taken Jean Cameron back to her lodging in Tower Street he went to the ‘White Cock’, where he had arranged to meet Hector Grant. But that young man was to be seen walking to and fro in the Strand itself, outside the passage, evidently waiting for him.

      “Don’t go in there, Ewen,” he said eagerly, “till I have at least told you my news. Young Glenshian is back in town—if he ever left it!”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I have seen his gillie. I met him by chance about an hour ago. He said that his master had been ill, though I could not make out from him whether he had really been away from London or no. At any rate, the man, who recognised me, admitted that Glenshian was able to receive visitors. It seems that he is recovering from a fever of cold which settled upon his lungs. So now I can perhaps find out the part which Finlay MacPhair has played in this slander upon me, for I am no nearer the truth than when I arrived here. Will you come with me? I think you have a score to settle too.”

      “I promised not to settle it,” answered Ardroy. “And you, Hector, do not yet know that you have one.”

      “Oh, I’ll be prudent,” promised the young soldier. “I will move cautiously in the matter, I assure you, for Fionnlagh Ruadh is not over peaceable himself. But I must at least put the question to him, and what time better than the present, if you are at liberty?”

      Ewen said that he was, and would accompany him, though he was not himself anxious to meet Archie’s traducer, since he might not have his way with him. But it seemed unwise to let Hector go alone, and his presence might conceivably keep the bit a shade tighter in that young gentleman’s mouth.

      At the house in Beaufort Buildings Hector was prepared to find his way unannounced to the upper floor, but the woman this time said that she would take the two gentlemen up, since Mr. MacPhair’s servant was out, and she thought his master as well. Indeed, she seemed sure of the latter’s absence, for she threw open the door with barely a knock, advanced into the room, and was consequently brought up short.

      “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said in half-abashed tones. “I quite thought you was out. Two gentlemen from Scotland to see you.”

      And there was visible, in a room less disorderly than Hector remembered, Mr. Finlay MacPhair sitting by a small fire fully dressed, with a large flowered shawl about his shoulders, and a book in his hand.

      He turned his red head quickly. “I thought I had given orders——” he began with a frown—and then seemed by an effort to accept the inevitable. “Visitors from Scotland are always welcome,” said he, and rose, holding the shawl together. “Why, ’tis rather a visitor from France! Is it not Mr. Hector Grant?”

      Hector bowed. “And my brother-in-law, Mr. Cameron of Ardroy. Ewen, let me present you to Mr. MacPhair of Glenshian.”

      “The gentleman, I think, who went to prison in order to shield Doctor Cameron last autumn?” said Glenshian, and held out his hand. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, sir—very greatly honoured. Be seated, if you please, gentlemen, and forgive my being happed up in this fashion. I am still somewhat of a sick man after a recent illness.”

      Mr. MacPhair was easy and fluent, and apparently more concerned with apologies for his shawl than observant, which was perhaps as well, for the man whose acquaintance he professed to be so proud to make was gazing at him in what would have been a disconcerting manner had young Glenshian been fully aware of it.

      Hector took a chair and said that he was sorry to hear of Mr. MacPhair’s indisposition. Ewen also seated himself, more slowly, but he said nothing. The cloaked gentleman who had come so secretly out of Mr. Pelham’s house that May night was here before him, and he was no Whig, but Finlay MacPhair, the son and heir of a great Chief whose clansmen had fought for the Cause. What had he been doing in Arlington Street?

      “Yes,” said young Glenshian, going to a cupboard, “I had the ill-luck to take a cold at the Carnival ball in Paris (for I was over there, on the King’s affairs, in the spring) which ended in a fluxion de poitrine, and left me with somewhat of a cough and a general weakness. I doubt I shall not be my own man again for a while.—Now, gentlemen, before you tell me why I am thus honoured by your company, you’ll pledge me, I hope, in this excellent Bordeaux—But where the devil has Seumas put the glasses?”

      His guests, however, both refused the offer of the Bordeaux with so much decision and unanimity that Finlay, raising his eyebrows, left the cupboard and came and sat down.

      “Not even to drink the King’s health?” he observed. “Well, gentlemen, if you will not drink, let us get to business—unless this is a mere visit of ceremony?”

      “No, ’tis not a visit of ceremony, Mr. MacPhair,” answered Ewen gravely. “Mr. Grant has a question to ask of you, which you will greatly oblige him by answering; and I, too, find that I have one which, by your leave, I should like to put when you have answered his.”

      “This sounds, I declare, like an examination before the Privy Council,” remarked young Glenshian, his lip drawing up a little. “Pray proceed then, sirs, each in your turn! You’ll allow me, I hope, the liberty of not replying if I so wish?”

      “Nay, Mr. MacPhair, do not imagine that we come as inquisitors,” said Hector with unwonted suavity. “It will be of your courtesy only that you reply.”

      “Ask, then!” said Finlay, fixing his piercing light eyes upon him.

      Even Hector hesitated for a second, choosing his words. “Mr. MacPhair, while eternally grateful to you for your assistance in procuring my return to France last January——” He paused again, seeing in those eyes something akin to the sudden violent resentment with which their owner had at first greeted the subject on that occasion, then went on: “I should nevertheless be glad of your assurance that you did not, by pure inadvertence, let it be somewhat freely known that I had lost, along with my other papers in the Highlands, the compromising cipher letter of which I told you?”

      There