"No, no," came from Lovat in a whisper.
Murray watched him with all the relish of a weak man scoring a rare triumph.
"Did your lordship speak?" he asked.
"I did," said Lovat, rising to his strength again, "I see nothing but danger and needless formality in such proceedings. We are not men of business, Mr. Murray—we are Highland gentlemen."
It was a bold throw, but it won the hearts of many there, who hated Murray and his fiddling Lowland ways. Only Lochiel said nothing, swayed two ways at once, and ready to faint with the pain of his wound.
"I think," broke in Roy Stuart, "we should defer signing until we meet again."
"Bravely spoken," remarked Lovat, "let us meet with our men in ten days' time. I can promise three hundred Frasers, if not more."
They all rose at that and conferred together before parting, each one promising a regiment, and that word should go through the hills.
Only Murray stood alone, and only Murray saw a man enter with a package and hand it to Lovat. He watched the old man open it—he noted how he started and frowned. More than that, he read the sudden terror in his face.
"Bring that man back!" cried the Fraser, but none heard him (save Murray), and when he learned at last that the messenger was nowhere to be found he groaned and a kind of despair settled upon his face like a mask.