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

be? Those running up respectively from Loch Lomond or Loch Katrine? But Archie would never ‘skulk’ so near Inversnaid as that. If that warrant had really been despatched from Edinburgh (for the whole thing might only be a rumour) then all one could hope for was that the information on which it had been issued was incorrect. Ewen stole a glance at his fellow-traveller.

      “I’ll hazard, my lord,” said he, trying to speak carelessly, “that the place was either Glenfalloch or Glengyle.”

      Lord Aveling turned his head from contemplating the twilight beauties of Loch Awe; he looked faintly surprised. “No, it was neither of those, I am sure,” he replied; and Ewen felt that he was upon the point of adding, “Why, may I ask, are you so anxious to know?” But he did not.

      “If I could but get a sight of that letter!” thought Ewen. “If he only received it this morning it is probably still in his pocket, not in his baggage. I wish he would bring it forth!” Yes, the letter was probably there, concealed from his longing eyes only by one or two thicknesses of cloth. How could he induce Lord Aveling, who so little guessed of what vital interest the name was to him, to read through his letter again? It would never do to avow that interest openly, because the young Englishman would then certainly refuse, by gratifying his curiosity, to lend himself to the conveyance of a warning to one whom he must regard as a dangerous enemy of the Government. For to warn Archie was now beginning to be Ewen’s one desire . . . if he could only learn where to find him.

      But then he thought despairingly, “Even if I knew that, and could set off this moment, how could I possibly get there in time?” For if, as Lord Aveling had seemed to imply, the warrant had already left Edinburgh for Inversnaid by the time his letter was despatched to Dunstaffnage, then, by this morning, when he received it there, so much farther from the capital than was Inversnaid, all was over. . . . Unless indeed, by God’s mercy, this unnamed glen had been searched and found empty, as it was rumoured had happened to not a few places in the last six months.

      “You have no doubt destroyed your letter, my lord?” he suggested desperately after a while—desperately and, as he felt, clumsily.

      He saw the colour leap into the young man’s cheek—and no wonder! The question was a most unwarrantable impertinence. He would reply “And what affair is that of yours?” and there would be nothing to do save to beg his pardon.

      But no; the youth said—and he actually smiled, “No, Mr. Cameron, I have not done that. Indeed, I fancy ’twill be long before that letter is torn up.” He turned his head away quickly, and once more looked out of the chaise window, but Ewen had the impression that the smile was still upon his lips. He was somewhat puzzled; it could hardly be that the news of Doctor Cameron’s possible arrest was so agreeable to the young traveller that he meant always to preserve the letter which announced it. There must be some other reason; perhaps the missive contained some private news which had pleased him. At any rate, it still existed, and, as it was in his possession, why would he not consult it? Was it, after all, packed away in his valise?

      “I wonder what glen it could have been,” hazarded Ardroy with a reflective air. “I thought I knew all the glens in that neighbourhood” (which was false, for he had never been there).

      Lord Aveling’s left hand—the nearest to his companion—made a quick undecided movement to his breast, and Ewen held his breath. He was going at last to bring out the letter and look! But no . . . for some unimaginable reason he was not! The hand fell again, its owner murmuring something about not remembering the name, and immediately beginning, rather pointedly, to talk about something else.

      It was useless to go on harping on the matter, even though the letter was indubitably in the young man’s pocket. Perhaps, in any case, he himself was allowing its contents to assume quite undue proportions in his mind. There had been so many of these false alarms and unfruitful attempts to seize Archie—that much, at least, he had learnt at Invernacree—and a mere visitor to Edinburgh, an English traveller new to Scotland, was not the person most likely to possess the really accurate knowledge which alone could cause alarm. It was some rumour of the despatch of a warrant which Lord Aveling’s correspondent had passed on to him, some gossip which was circulating in Edinburgh, nothing more.

      (2)

      So, by the time they came with lighted lamps to Dalmally, and the little inn in the strath where they were to spend the night, Ewen, by way of revulsion, was almost ready to laugh at himself and his fears. Even if the news about the issue of the warrant were true, the information which had caused it was palpably false. As if Archie would lie hid, as Lord Aveling’s correspondent reported, within reach of Inversnaid barracks! Again, if it had been true, then, having regard to the time which had elapsed, and the extraordinary swiftness with which news was wont to travel from mouth to mouth in the Highlands, the news of Doctor Cameron’s capture in Perthshire would certainly be known here at Dalmally, almost on the borders. And a few careful questions put to the innkeeper soon after their arrival, out of Lord Aveling’s hearing, showed Ardroy that it was not. He sat down to supper with that young man in a somewhat happier frame of mind.

      The most esteemed bedroom of the inn had been put at the disposal of the guests. There happened to be two beds in it, and for persons of the same sex travelling together—or even not travelling—to share a room was so usual that the landlord did not even apologise for the necessity; he was only overheard to congratulate himself that he could offer the superior amenities of his best bedchamber to these two gentlemen.

      But the gentlemen in question did not congratulate themselves when they saw it.

      “Did you say that you once shared a room with my poor brother?” enquired Lord Aveling when their mails had been brought in and they were alone together in that uninviting apartment.

      “Hardly a room,” answered Ewen. “It was but a little hut, where one slept upon bracken.”

      “I believe that I should prefer bracken to this bed,” observed his lordship, looking with distaste at the dingy sheets which he had uncovered. “I shall not venture myself completely into it. Yet, by Gad, I’m sleepy enough.” He yawned. “I wager I shall sleep as well, perhaps better, than I have done of late at Dunstaffnage Castle, where one heard the sea-wind blowing so strong of nights.”

      “Yes, and I dare venture you found Edinburgh none too quiet neither,” observed Ewen idly, surveying his equally dubious sheets, and resolving to follow his companion’s example.

      “Oh, down at General Churchill’s quarters ’twas peaceful enough,” returned Lord Aveling, stifling another yawn, “for the Abbey stands—but there,” he added, beginning to take off his coat, “you must know better than I what is the situation of Holyrood House.”

      Ewen’s pulse suddenly quickened. “So it was General Churchill whom you were visiting in Edinburgh, my lord?”

      “Yes,” replied the young man. “I thought I had already mentioned it.” And then he began to redden; even in the meagre candle-light the colour could be seen mounting hotly to his face. “He is an old acquaintance of my father’s.”

      Ewen remained motionless, one arm out of his coat; but he was not speculating as to why the young nobleman had so curiously flushed. The thought had shot through him like an arrow: if he has been visiting the Commander-in-Chief, then his news about the warrant out for Archie is no hearsay, it is cold and deadly truth . . . and probably the letter which he received this morning announcing the fact was from General Churchill himself.

      Talking amiably between yawns, Lord Aveling proceeded to remove his wig and coat. Ewen watched him almost without realising that he was watching, so overcome was he with the revelation of the identity of the youth’s correspondent. And in the same half-tranced state he saw his fellow-traveller bend rather hurriedly over the coat, which he had flung on a chair, extract something from an inner pocket and thrust it under his pillow. The Commander-in-Chief’s letter, no doubt, which he seemed so oddly to guard from sight.

      Ewen came to life again, finished taking off his own coat, and removed his boots, in silence. Meanwhile Lord