The Collected Western Classics & Adventures Novels. William MacLeod Raine

“Indeed! A spy?” he asked, indifferently.

      “Why not? The favourite of the Hanoverian usurpers discovered in our midst—what other explanation will it bear?”

      He smiled. “Perhaps I have a mind to join your barelegged rebellion.”

      “Afraid your services are not available, Sir Robert. Three hundred Macleod claymores bar the way, all eager to wipe out an insult to the daughter of Raasay. Faith, when they have settled their little account against you there won’t be much left for the Prince.”

      “Ah! Then for the sake of argument suppose we put it that I’m visiting this delightful city for my health.”

      “You will find the climate not agree with you, I fear.”

      “Then say for pleasure.”

      “’Twill prove more exciting than amusing.”

      “On my life, dear Kenn, ’tis both.”

      “I have but to raise my voice and you are undone.”

      “His voice was ever soft, gentle, and low, an excellent thing in Kenneth,” he parodied, laughing at me.

      The girl said never a word, but her level eyes watched me steadily. No need of words to tell me that I was on trial! But I would not desist.

      “You appear not to realize the situation,” I told him coldly. “Your life is in hazard.”

      The man yawned in my face. “Not at all, I sit here as safe as if I were at White’s, and a devilish deal better satisfied. Situation piquant! Company of the best! Gad’s life, I cry content.”

      “I think we talk at cross purposes. I am trying to have you understand that your position is critical, Sir Robert.”

      Nonchalant yet watchful, indolent and yet alert, gracefully graceless, he watched me smilingly out of half-closed eyes; and then quietly fired the shot that brought me to.

      “If you were not a gentleman, Montagu, the situation would be vastly different.”

      “I do not see the point,” I told him; but I did, and raged at it.

      “I think you do. Your lips are sealed. I am your rival”—he bowed to Aileen—“for the favour of a lady. If you put me out of the way by playing informer what appearance will it bear? You may talk of duty till the world ends, but you will be a marked man, despised by all—and most of all by Kenneth Montagu.”

      The man was right. At one sweep he had spiked my guns, demolished my defenses. The triumph was sponged from my face. I fumed in a stress of impotence.

      “I don’t know about that. I shall have to think of it. There is a duty to perform,” I said at last, lamely.

      He waved a hand airily. “My dear fellow, think as long as you please. You can’t think away facts. Egad, they’re immutable. You know me to be no spy. Conceded that I am in a false position. What can you do about it? You can’t in honour give me up. I’faith, you’re handcuffed to inaction.”

      I was, but my temper was not improved at hearing him tell it me so suavely and so blandly. He sat smiling and triumphant, chuckling no doubt at the dilemma into which he had thrust me. The worst of it was that while I was ostensibly master of the situation he had me at his mercy. I was a helpless victor without any of the fruits of victory.

      “You took advantage of a girl’s soft heart to put her in a position that was indefensible,” I told him with bitter bluntness. “Save this of throwing yourself on her mercy there was no other way of approaching her. Of the wisdom of the serpent you have no lack. I congratulate you, Sir Robert. But one may be permitted to doubt the manliness of such a course.”

      The pipers struck up a song that was the vogue among our party, and a young man passed the entrance of the room singing it.

      “Oh, it’s owre the border awa’, awa’,

       It’s owre the border awa’, awa’,

       We’ll on an’ we’ll march to Carlisle Ha’,

       Wi’ its yetts, its castles, an’ a’, an’ a’.”

      The audacious villain parodied it on the spot, substituting two lines of his own for the last ones.

      “You’ll on an’ you’ll march to Carlisle Ha’,

       To be hanged and quartered an’ a’, an’ a’,”

      he hummed softly in his clipped English tongue.

      “Pity you won’t live to see it,” I retorted tartly.

      “You’re still nursing that maggot, are you? Debating with yourself about giving me up, eh? Well that’s a matter you must settle with your conscience, if you indulge in the luxury of one.”

      “You would never give him up, Kenneth,” said Aileen in a low voice. “Surely you would not be doing that.”

      “I shall not let him stay here. You may be sure of that,” I said doggedly.

      The girl ventured a suggestion timidly. “Perhaps Sir Robert will be leaving to-morrow—for London mayhap.”

      Volney shook his head decisively. “Not I. Why, I have but just arrived. Besides, here is a problem in ethics for Mr. Montagu to solve. Strength comes through conflict, so the schools teach. Far be it from me to remove the cause of doubt. Let him solve his problem for himself, egad!”

      He seemed to find a feline pleasure in seeing how far he could taunt me to go. He held me on the knife-edge of irritation, and perillous as was the experiment he enjoyed seeing whether he could not drive me to give him up.

      “Miss Macleod’s solution falls pat. Better leave to-morrow, Sir Robert. To stay is dangerous.”

      “’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, ‘out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower safety,’” he quoted.

      “I see you always have your tag of Shakespeare ready; then let me remind you what he has to say about the better part of valour,” I flung back, for once alert in riposte.

      “A hit, and from the same play,” he laughed. “But a retreat— ’Tis not to be thought of. No, no, Montagu! And it must be you’ll just have to give me up.”

      “Oh, you harp on that! You may say it once too often. I shall find a way to get rid of you,” I answered blackly.

      “Let me find it for you, lad,” said a voice from the doorway.

      We turned, to find that Donald Roy had joined the party. He must have been standing there unobserved long enough to understand my dilemma, for he shot straight to the mark.

      “Sir Robert, I’ll never be denying that you’re a bold villain, and that is the one thing that will be saving your life this night. I’m no’ here to argie-bargie with you. The plain fact is just this; that I dinna care a rap for you the tane gate or the tither (the one way or the other). I’d like fine to see you dancing frae the widdie (gallows), but gin the lady wants you spared I’ll no’ say her no. Mr. Englisher, you’ll just gie me your word to tak the road for the border this night, or I’ll give a bit call to Major Macleod. I wouldna wonder but he wad be blithe to see you. Is it to be the road or the Macleod?”

      I could have kissed the honest trusty face of the man, for he had lifted me out of a bog of unease. I might be bound by honour, but Captain Macdonald was free as air to dictate terms. Volney looked long at him, weighed the man, and in the end flung up the sponge. He rose to his feet and sauntered over to Aileen.

      “I am desolated to find that urgent business takes me south at once, Miss Macleod. ’Tis a matter of the gravest calls me; nothing of less importance than the life of my nearest friend would take me from you. But I’m afraid it must be ‘Au revoir’ for the present,” he said.

      She looked past the man as if he had not existed.

      He