“I sent them to His Majesty this morning.”
CHAPTER XX
ON THE VERGE OF MADNESS
“You have sent it to the King—the packet?” ejaculated the Master of Stair.
“I have. It was time,” answered the Viscount.
“My lord—why was I not consulted?” flashed his son.
Viscount Stair looked up sideways with a sudden complete drop of his indifferent manner.
“You fool,” he said, “you are not in a position you can play with—you have three countries full of enemies and not one friend that I know of—except the King, and what could he do for you if all Scotland started to pull you down? Ye have discovered this plot (more by good fortune than by your own wits), and you would fling away the credit of it for—what? Some rag of sentiment.”
“I have not said so,” retorted Sir John sullenly.
“Bah!” The Viscount made a grimace. “Why did you delay so long in sending them to Kensington? Believe me, you cannot afford to lose these chances of serving the country: if your enemies find one handle against you—you fall far more quickly than you climbed, my dear son.”
“My lord, my lord!” cried the Master of Stair, “the tenure of my office is not so slight.”