“I want you to help me save the Macdonalds of Glencoe—I have—a reason.”
There was a long pause; she grew frightened.
“Won’t you answer?” she said piteously.
“I have no power,” he replied sternly.
“Ah, yes, as much as any of them—and I am afraid the Macdonalds—afraid of—” she paused.
“Of whom?”
“The Master of Stair,” she whispered.
He uttered his slight reckless laugh.
“Content ye—I will defend ye from the Master of Stair—on my soul, ye are a sweet thing—I will see ye next time.”
She fell back, panting into the dark and he passed on into the outer room where a man was busy sorting and arranging Jacobite pamphlets. He rose to open the door.