"You bring, perhaps, some message?"

"I--I brought a message."

"It is from the Lady Catharine?"

Mary Connynge was silent for a moment. It was necessary that, at least
for a moment, the poison of some aeons should distil. There was need of
savagery to say what she proposed to say. The voice of training, of
civilization, of unselfishness, of friendship raised a protest. Wait
then for a moment. Wait until the bitterness of an ambitious and
unrounded life could formulate this evil impulse. Wait, till Mary
Connynge could summon treachery enough to slay her friend. And yet, wait
only until the primitive soul of Mary Connynge should become altogether
imperative in its demands! For after all, was not this friend a woman,
and is not the earth builded as it is? And hath not God made male and
female its inhabitants; and as there is war of male and male, is there
not war of female and female, until the end of time?

"I came from the Lady Catharine," said Mary Connynge, slowly, "but I
bring no message from her of the sort which perhaps you wished." It was
a desperate, reckless lie, a lie almost certain of detection yet it was
the only resource of the moment, and a moment later it was too late to
recall. One lie must now follow another, and all must make a deadly
coil.

"Madam, I am sorry," said John Law, quietly, yet his face twitched
sharply at the impact of these cutting words. "Did you know of my letter
to her?"

"Am I not here?" said Mary Connynge.

"True, and I thank you deeply. But how, why-pray you, understand that I
would be set right. I would not undergo more than is necessary. Will you
not explain?"

"There is but little to explain--little, though it may mean much. It
must be private. Your brother--he must never know. Promise me not to
speak to him of this."

"This means much to me, I doubt not, my dear lady," said John Law. "I
trust I may keep my counsel in a matter which comes so close to me."

"Yes, truly," replied Mary Connynge, "if you had set your heart upon a
kindly answer."

"What! You mean, then, that she--"

"Do you promise?"

The brows of Law settled deeper and deeper into the frown which marked
him when he was perturbed. The blood, settled back, now slowly mounted
again into his face, the resentful, fighting blood of the Highlander.

"I promise," he cried. "And now, tell me what answer had the Lady
Catharine Knollys."

"She declined to answer," said Mary Connynge, slowly and evenly.
"Dec