imagination he could see the fishing-town, the inn there, the
dunes, the ocean beach fretted by the long, incoming wave. Perhaps
and most probably, this very bright afternoon, the laird of Glenfernie
waited for him there, pacing the sands, perhaps, watching the comers
to the inn door.... Well, he must watch in vain. Ian Rullock would one
day give him satisfaction, but certainly not now. Vast affairs might
not be daffed aside for the laird of Glenfernie's convenience! Ian
stood staring out of window at those huddled roofs, the challenge
still in his hand. Then, slowly, he tore the paper to pieces and
committed it to the brazier where was already consumed Black Hill's
communication.

That evening he supped with Warburton, and the next morning saw him
and Donal riding forth from Paris, by St.-Denis, on toward Dunkirk.
From this place, four days later, sailed the brig _Cock of the North_,
destination the Beauly Firth. Dr. Robert Bonshaw and his man
experienced, despite the prediction of the Frenchman of quality, a
rough and long voyage. But the _Cock of the North_ weathered
tumultuous sea and wind and came, in the northern spring, to anchor in
a great picture of firth and green shore and dark, piled mountains.
Dr. Robert Bonshaw and his man, going ashore and into Inverness, found
hospitality there in the house of a certain merchant. Thence, after a
day or so, he traveled to the castle of a Highland chief of commanding
port. Here occurred a gathering; here letters and asseverations
brought from France were read, listened to, weighed or taken without
much weighing, so did the Highland desire run one way. An old net
added to itself another mesh.

Dr. Robert Bonshaw, a very fit, invigorating agent, traveled far and
near through the Highlands this May, this June, this July. It was to
him an interesting, difficult, intensely occupied time; he was far
from Lowland Scotland and any echoes therefrom, saving always
political echoes. He had no leisure for his own affairs, saving always
that background consideration that, if the Stewarts really got back
the crown, Ian Rullock was on the road to power and wealth. This
consideration was not articulate, but diffused. It interfered not at
all with the foreground activities and hard planning--no more than did
the fine Highland air. It only spurred him as did the winy air. The
time and place were electric; he worked hard, many hours on end, and
when he sought his bed he dropped at once to