Jerome tapped his foot thoughtfully.
“Breadalbane held a conference at Kilchurn, I heard,” he remarked. “But it has come to nothing.”
“Of course,” said Sir Perseus dryly. “The government had the folly to send a Campbell—and the most hated of all the Campbells to treat.”
“It was thought,” answered Jerome, “that it would be to his interest to quiet the Highlands, but he has, I think, found it more to his interest to keep the money he was to buy them with.”
“God knows,” said Sir Perseus. “I think his strongest motive is not money—but hate.”
Delia broke in eagerly: “You cannot guess how the Highlanders hate the Campbells, Mr. Caryl—this Macdonald goes white to think of them—”
Jerome Caryl lifted his head; his beautiful face was set and hard.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “The Highlands hate Breadalbane—the Lowlands hate the Master of Stair; the English hate William of Orange—in each case ’tis thousands to one—”
Delia cried joyously:
“Surely that means all hearts turn to the true King—no government can surely live on hate!”