“The government cannot stand out against us,” argued Balmerino. “The Duke of Newcastle is almost an imbecile. The Dutch usurper himself is over in Hanover courting a new mistress. His troops are all engaged in foreign war. There are not ten thousand soldiers on the island. At this very moment the King of France is sending fifteen thousand across in transports. He will have no difficulty in landing them and London cannot hold out.”
“Faith, he might get his army here. I’m not denying that. But I’ll promise him trouble in getting it away again.”
“The Highlands are ready to fling away the scabbard for King James III,” said Donald Roy simply.
“It is in my mind that you have done that more than once before and that because of it misguided heads louped from sturdy shoulders,” I answered.
“Wales too is full of loyal gentlemen. What can the Hanoverians do if they march across the border to join the Highlanders rolling down from the North and Marshal Saxe with his French army?”
“My imagination halts,” I answered dryly. “You will be telling me next that England is wearying for a change back to the race of Kings she has twice driven out.”
“I do say it,” cried Leath. “Bolingbroke is already negotiating with the royal family. Newcastle is a broken reed. Hervey will not stand out. Walpole is a dying man. In whom can the Dutchman trust? The nation is tired of them, their mistresses and their German brood.”
“When we had them we found these same Stuarts a dangerous and troublesome race. We could not in any manner get along with them. We drove them out, and then nothing would satisfy us but we must have them back again. Well, they had their second chance, and we found them worse than before. They had not learnt the lesson of the age. They——”
“Split me, y’are not here to lecture us, Mr. Montagu,” cried Leath with angry eye. “Damme, we don’t care a rap for your opinions, but you have heard too much. To be short, the question is, will you join us or won’t you?”
“To be short then, Mr. Leath, not on compulsion.”