“No, my lady, my lord will be with ye to-morrow, and I’ve no’ any knowledge. My lord didna’ gie me aught but the message.”
“Ye may gang, sir,” she answered. “Thank ye for your service.”
Glenlyon bowed himself from the room, and the Countess turned again to her letter.
“This will be a blow to the Master of Stair,” said Argyll
“But it is no’ all the clans hae come in,” she answered quickly.
Argyll smiled.
“But the Master of Stair was reckoning on all, cousin.” He drew a letter from his pocket and unfolded it. “See, the last he wrote me.”
He pointed to a sentence and read it aloud.
“‘As I wrote to you formerly, if the rest are willing to concur, to pull down Glencoe’s nest this winter, as the crows do—thus destroying him and his clan, ’twill be as fully acceptable as if he had come in. This answers all ends and satisfies those who complain of the King’s too great gentleness.’ Ye see,” commented Argyll, “he is very bitter—he would like to sweep the Hielands wi’ fire and sword. He wrote to me that if none came in—he hoped six thousand might be slain.”
“But they hae come in!” cried the Countess impatiently. “Still—if the Macdonalds dinna—if we can be freed o’ that nest o’ murdering thieves, ’twill be somewhat—Keppoch too, and the ither chiefs may stand out.”