“We must have no fighting,” cried Ronald in Gaelic. “There are a hundred Campbells here—woe that we ever came!”
Breadalbane, holding himself erect, smiled coldly at them; he had himself well under control; Makian glancing at his set face felt it had been a mistake to cross his threshold.
There was an intense pause; Ronald scowled till his blue eyes were hidden; the wily old chief with one hand tightly on Ian’s arm was considering a means to conciliate or to outwit the Earl.
Breadalbane looked at the silent Ardkinglass behind him, then back at the three Highlanders and his lids drooped till his eyes were hidden.
The silence was broken by the opening of the heavy door, and the quick entry of a woman.
It was the Countess Peggy.
She wore a green coat and there was some heavy brown fur about her neck; she carried her hat in her hand and on her shoulders and in her red curls was a faint powdering of snow.
At sight of the three Highlanders she stepped back and the color rushed into her face. And Ronald had seen her; he turned full to where she stood and cried:
“Helen Fraser!”
The two Macdonalds stared at him; but he, breathing fast and flushing, took no heed of them; it was as if the mere sight of her had uplifted him from all thought of aught beside.