The Gleam in the North. D. K. Broster

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      Hector looked at him and smiled. “I hope to see Cluny later—though not about the treasure. Just now it’s a man much easier to come at, a man in Lochaber, that I’m seeking—yourself, in short.”

      Ewen raised his eyebrows. “You have not far to go, then.”

      “I am not so sure of that,” responded young Grant cryptically. He paused a moment. “Ewen, have you ever heard of Alexander Murray?”

      “The brother of Lord Murray of Elibank do you mean? Yes. What of him?”

      “And Finlay MacPhair of Glenshian—young Glenshian—did you ever meet him in Paris?”

      “No, I have never met him.”

      “N’importe. Now listen, and I will tell you a great secret.”

      He drew closer, and into Ardroy’s ears he poured the somewhat vague but (to Ewen) alarming details of a plot to surprise St. James’s Palace and kidnap the whole English Royal Family, by means, chiefly, of young officers like himself in the French service, aided by Highlanders, of whom five hundred, he alleged, could be raised in London. The German Elector, his remaining son and his grandsons once out of the way, England would acquiesce with joy in the fait accompli, and welcome her true Prince, who was to be ready on the coast. The Highlands, of course, must be prepared to rise, and quickly, for Hector believed that an early date in November had been fixed for the attempt. The Scots whom he had just mentioned were in the plot; the Earl Marischal knew of it. And Hector himself, having already resolved to spend his leave in visiting his sister, had also, it was evident, conceived the idea of offering Ardroy a share in the enterprise, apparently hoping to induce him to go to London and enrol himself among the putative five hundred Highlanders.

      “But, before we discuss that,” he finished, “tell me what you think of the whole notion of this coup de main? Is it not excellent, and just what we ought to have carried out long ago, had we been wise?” And he leant back with a satisfied air as if he had no fear of the reply.

      But there was no answering light on the clear, strong face opposite him. Cameron of Ardroy was looking very grave.

      “You want to know what I think?” he asked slowly. “Well, first I think that the scheme is mad, and could not succeed; and secondly, that it is unworthy, and does not deserve to.”

      Hector sat up in his chair. “Hé! qu’est-ce que tu me chantes là?” he cried with a frown. “Say that again!”

      Ewen did not comply; instead he went on very earnestly: “You surely do not hold with assassination, Hector! But no doubt you do not see the affair in that light . . . you spoke of kidnapping, I think. O, for Heaven’s sake, have nothing to do with a plot of that kind, which the Prince would never soil his hands with!”

      “You are become very squeamish on a sudden,” observed his visitor, surveying him with an air at once crestfallen and deeply resentful. “And somewhat behind the times, too, since you retired to these parts. The Prince not only knows but approves of the plan.”

      His brother-in-law’s face expressed complete scepticism. “I think your enthusiasm misleads you, Hector. His Royal Highness has always refused to countenance schemes of the kind.”

      “You are a trifle out of date, as I was forced to observe to you, my dear Ewen! I suppose His Royal Highness may change his mind. And, after all, it is five years or so since you have been able to know anything of his opinions. As it happens, it is in connection with this enterprise that he is sending MacPhair of Lochdornie and Doctor Cameron to Scotland. They are to work the clans meanwhile, so that when the blow is struck in London by those responsible——”

      But by now Ewen was interrupting him. “Archie—Archie Cameron is connected with this plot! I’m sorry to appear to doubt you, Hector, but—since at this point we had best be frank—I don’t believe it.”

      Hector’s lips were compressed, his eyes glinting. He seemed to be making an effort to keep his temper. “He’ll tell you differently, parbleu, when you meet him!”

      “When I meet him! He’s not in Scotland.”

      “He is, by this time! And I suppose, since he’s your cousin, and you have always been intimate with him, that he’ll come here, and mayhap you will accord him a more courteous welcome than you have me!” He pushed back his chair and got up.

      Ewen did the same. “I ask your pardon if I was uncivil,” he said with some stiffness. “But I cannot be courteous over a scheme so ill-judged and so repugnant. Moreover Archibald Cameron will not come here. When he was over in ’49 on the business of the Loch Arkaig gold he purposely kept away from Ardroy.”

      “Purposely? Why?—Oh, ay, lest he should compromise you, I suppose!”

      “Something of the sort,” answered Ewen without flinching.

      “Yes, that’s your chief preoccupation now, I see!” flared out Hector, hot as ginger. “It were much better I had not come here either, but I’ll go at once, lest I should commit that unpardonable sin!”

      “Hector, Hector, do not be so hasty!” cried Ewen, angry enough himself, but still able to control his tongue. “You asked me what I thought—I told you. Give me your cloak; sit down again! Let’s leave this business till the morning, and we’ll talk of it again then.”

      “No, indeed we will not!” retorted the young plotter defiantly. “I’ll find some other roof to shelter me to-night—some humbler dwelling where the White Rose is still cherished. It grows no longer at Ardroy—I see that very plainly.” He flung the cloak round him with a swing. “I’ll bid you good-night, monsieur mon beau-frère!”

      Ewen had put his hands behind him; one was gripping the wrist of the other. He had turned a little pale. “You can say what you please to me in this house,” he answered between his teeth, “for you know that I cannot touch you. But if you still feel minded to repeat that about the White Rose to me to-morrow, somewhere off my land——”

      “The White Rose,” broke in a gentle voice from the doorway. “Who is speaking of—— O Hector!”

      It was Lady Ardroy, in her nightshift with a shawl about her. Both men stood looking at her and wondering how much she had heard.

      “Hector, dear brother, what a surprise!” She ran across the big room to him. “Have you but just arrived? Take off your cloak—how delightful is this!” With the words she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him warmly.

      But there must have been something amiss in her brother’s answering salute, as in her husband’s silence. “What is troubling you?” she asked, looking from one to the other, her hand still on Hector’s shoulder. “Is anything wrong? Is there . . . ill news?”

      Neither of the men answered her for a moment. “Ewen considers it ill,” said Hector at last, curtly. “But it does not touch him—nor you, my dear. So I’ll say good-night; I must be going on my way.”

      “Going on your way—to-night!” There was almost stupefaction in his sister’s tone. “But ’tis long past midnight; you cannot go, Hector—and where are you bound at such an hour? Ewen, make him bide here!”

      “Hector must please himself,” replied her husband coldly. “But naturally I have no desire that he should СКАЧАТЬ