The Earl cursed fiercely and flung the window up; they shouted up vile names at him and mouthed foul versions of his misfortunes till his cheek was dark with passion.
With a hard face he slipped his hand to his pocket.
“Listen!” he pulled the door open and leaned forward. “If ye do not leave go of the horses—if one of you come a step nearer—I’ll shoot the dog.” And he lifted his white and silver gloved hand closed round the glitter of a pistol.
For an instant his firm reckless facing of them discomposed the crowd, yet the sight of his lowering dark face as greatly roused their wrath anew.
“Ye damned Dalrymple!” shouted one man. “Answer for the bluid o’ Glencoe!”
As he spoke he leaped to gain the open doorway of the coach.
The Earl seized him by the collar and hurled him backwards into the mass. “By God!” he cried with blazing eyes, “I’ll have the law on you, you hounds—I’ll have you whipped and hanged for this.”
His fierce voice rose above the clamor and stirred fury beyond awe. There was a wild dash at the coach and in another moment the mob would have dragged Earl Stair to his death. But Lady Stair had risen from her place in the interior, forgotten by her husband, unknown of by the mob.
Now she caught his arm and slipped into view in the doorway.
“Don’t fire!” she said; she lifted a beseeching face.