The Countess smiled.
“We are well enough here,” she said. “And ye may keep that untidy female awa’—I wait on my lord myself. We shall gang as soon as it is light.”
With a few murmured words Delia followed Jerome into the opposite room, a dirty dingy place where Sir Perseus sat over a rough supper. She joined him in a white agitation and glanced from one man to another.
“Delia—what is the matter?” asked Sir Perseus. “This encounter will do us no harm.”
She was silent, one hand over her bosom; with the other she pushed her plate aside; she was quite white.
“I know,” she said faintly, “But I cannot eat—I will go to bed.”
“That is folly,” answered Sir Perseus curtly. Then he turned to Jerome and added in a lowered voice: “Did you speak to the Earl?”
“Why not?” asked Jerome calmly. “I asked him for the room and he gave it me—cold and stiff but courteous. His wife is beautiful—is she not?”
They commenced their supper, but Delia sat miserably silent, with absent eyes. “The Macdonalds have not taken the oath,” beat in her head. “The Macdonalds have not taken the oath!”
The hostess in clumsy hurry left the door ajar behind her, enough for them to see across the passage where in the doorway of the opposite room stood the Countess with her sleeves rolled up over her white elbows, and flour on her hands, her face was turned to the stairway, upon it a lovely smile.