The "fiery cross" was circulated through the Highlands, and Sir Alick returned to his home to raise a troop of his own tenants and clansmen, at whose head he proposed to join the Earl of Mar.
Maisie, ordinarily so gentle and retiring, was now roused to unwonted and passionate protest. The scheme for the threatened "rising" was not unknown in England; and Simon Glenlivet wrote to his quondam ward, urging her most strongly to dissuade her husband from joining a rash conspiracy which could only bring ruin upon all who were engaged in it.
"'Tis hopeless—and I thank Heaven that it is so—to think of overturning the present condition of things," wrote the cautious London Scot; "and they who take part in this mad conspiracy—of which the English Government have fuller details than the conspirators wot of—will but lose their lands, and it may be their heads to boot. I pray thee, my pretty Molly, keep thy husband out of this snare."
But this command was not so easily followed. Since his visit to Braemar, Alick himself had caught the war fever, and, for once, his wife's entreaties, nay, even her tears and prayers, were disregarded by her husband! Sir Alick was all love and tenderness, but join the glorious expedition he must and would, encouraged in this resolve by mother, sister, and kinsfolk; Maisie's being the only dissenting voice; and, as Lady Glenlivet tauntingly remarked to her daughter-in-law, "it was not for the child of a mere English pock-pudding to decide what was fitting conduct for a Highland noble—Maisie should remember she had wedded into an honourable house, and not strive to draw her husband aside from the path of duty."
Unheeded by her husband, derided and taunted by his mother, Maisie could but weep in silent despair.
And so the day of parting came, and Alick, looking splendidly handsome in his military attire, stood to take his last farewell of wife and kindred, and to drink a parting cup to the success of the expedition.
"Fill me the quaick, Maisie," he said, with a kindly smile turning to his pale and heavy-eyed young wife. "Ye'll soon see me come back again to bid ye all put on your braws to grace the king's coronation at Edinburgh." To which hope Lady Glenlivet piously cried "Amen"; and Maisie turned to mix the stirrup cup, for the morning was raw and cold.
"Let Isobel lift the kettle, lass; it's far too heavy for thee," cried Lady Glenlivet; but alas! too late, for Maisie stumbled as she turned from the fire, and the chief part of the scalding water was emptied into one of the young man's long riding boots.
Alick's sudden yell of pain almost drowned Maisie's sobbing cry, and old Lady Glenlivet furiously exclaimed, forgetful of all courtesies,—
"Ye wretched gawk! ye little fule! ye ha' killed my puir lad!"