“Gad, sir, you’re tough!” growled Murray. Piety had shown to him till now as a dour, forbidding thing that made fools or fanatics of men. He had not understood—though the Highlanders should have taught him so much—that it could be instinct with romance, and warmth, and well-being, making endeavour and sacrifice a soldier’s road to the steep hilltops of the certain dawn.
“I’ve need to be,” said Sir Jasper, with the same unalterable simplicity. “There are too many weak-kneed folk with us.” There was a pause, and he looked Murray in the face as he had done just before their duel in the wood. “You go to the Prince’s Council?” he went on.
“Well, since you’ve guessed as much—yes.”
“And you will air your knowledge of arithmetic—will argue that all’s lost already according to the known rules of warfare. No, you need not disclaim. We know your mind. My lord, I am in command only of a ragged company from Lancashire, and not privileged to share your Council. But I ask you to listen to a plain gentleman’s view of this adventure. We follow no known rules, save that the straight road is the readiest. We have one thought only—of advance. There is the London road open to us, and no other, and God forgive you if you sound the note of retreat that will ruin all.”
“My good Sir Jasper, my mind was made up long ago. The world’s as it’s made, and battle is a crude reckoning up of men, and arms, and odds——”
“And the something more that you will not understand—the something that has carried us to Derby, as by a miracle. Listen, my lord! I ask you to listen. You go to this Council. In an hour or so all will be settled, one way or the other. Remember that you Highland chiefs have the Stuart’s honour in your hands, the lives of all these simple Highlanders. You know that the Prince has one mind only—to push forward—but that you can overrule him if you will.” Sir Jasper’s voice was strained and harsh, so eager was he to bring his voice to the Council, if only by deputy. “You know, Lord Murray, that the Highlanders are with their Prince, in thought, in faith, in eagerness to run the gauntlet. You know, too, that your Scots tradition bids them, liking it or no, follow their chieftains first, their Prince afterwards.”
“I am well aware of it. That is the weapon I mean to make full use of, since you compel my candour.”
It was a moment when men are apt to find unsuspected, gusty feelings stir and cry for outlet. For neither to Sir Jasper nor Lord Murray was there any doubt that the whole well-being of England—England, thrifty, pleasant, mistress of the seas, and royalist to the core of her strong, tender heart—rested on this Council that was soon to make its choice between opposing policies. And Lord Murray, in his own cold fashion, believed that he was the wise counsellor of the enterprise, enforcing prudence on hot-headed zealots; for Murray was three parts honest, though he was cursed from birth by lack of breadth and that practical, high imagination which makes fine leaders.
“I am sorry,” said Sir Jasper unexpectedly. “Till you die, Lord Murray, you’ll regret your share in this. You’ve gained many to your side, and may carry what you have in mind; but, if you have your way, I’d rather die on Tower Hill than lie on the bed you’re making for yourself. You’ll think better of it?” he broke off, with a quick tenderness that surprised him. “You’re brave, you’re capable; surely you will see the open road to London as I see it now—the only road of honour. For your own sake——”
“For my own sake?” snapped Murray, moved against his will. “Why should you care so much, sir, for what concerns my happiness?”