"Oh, why," cried Lovat, trembling with fury and vexation, "did ye come and ruin us at all?"
At that they tried to soothe him, telling him that he had taken no part—that he was an old man—that he could hide for a season. To all of which Lovat shook his great head. He never deceived himself.
"More than that," went on the Irishman, Sheridan, pacing up and down before the open window, "all is not lost. The clans will assemble again, and French gold is even now on its way. Gold," he added, "will unite us again as quick as honour."
He smiled, little guessing how far he erred in that while Lovat listened absently.
"French gold," he repeated, "and how can they land gold now?"
"They make for Lochnanuagh," replied Sheridan, "and...." but the Prince broke in:
"Come, gentlemen," he cried, "let us to horse. We must reach Invergarry before dawn. There is no sleep for us yet awhile..." and he raised his harassed eyes to the cold sky. "My lord," he said, a moment later, taking Lovat by the hand, "do not give way to despair—we are not beaten yet."
But the melancholy tone in which he sought to cheer the old man went like a chill to their hearts, and brought the old satirical grin to Lovat's mouth.
"Farewell," replied the old man with all the natural dignity that neither age nor dishonour could rob him, "I doubt we shall never meet again."
At that they all rose, and after shaking him by the hand passed down the stairs. He accompanied them to the door and stood with no further word while they mounted their beasts. The gillies letting the reins, fell back into the night leaving him alone. He took off his hat, but made no other sign.