Castleleathers shrank back.
"He said that did he?" he murmured aghast.
She nodded her head.
"He's no sae sure of you as it is," she added.
He appeared considerably dejected at this, and said again and again that he did not know what could be done at all.
"We must compel him to sign a pardon," said Miss Macpherson, "we must put the fear of death upon him, Castleleathers. You are a very large, powerful man, as great in the chest as Muckle John himsel"—she paused, eyeing him keenly—"my certes," she cried, "but there's a notion for you ... could ye no let on you were Muckle John?"
"I ... Muckle John? My dear lady..."
"You are fatter than he and without his spirit of course, but how can the Duke tell that? I have a friend inside the Fort, a Macpherson, third cousin to my mother's step-daughter and a douce quiet man. He would do what he can though he has a sound respect for his neck."
"I am with him there," sighed Castleleathers. "I hope, madam, that you propose nothing rash."
"My man," she said stoutly, "when my blood's up I stick at nothing, be it Duke or gibbet."