MacDonalds, who, luckily for him and Sonachan and
the others, all followed you in your flight, and gave them a chance of
an easy escape."

He shook hands with us warmly enough, with fingers moist and nervous.
A raised look was in his visage, his hair hung upon a brow of exceeding
pallor. I realised at a half-glance the commotion that was within.

"A drop of wine?"

"Thank you," said I, "but I'm after a glass in the town." I was yet to
learn sorrow for this unhappy nobleman whose conduct had bittered me all
the way from Lom.

MacCailein scrutinised me sharply, and opened his lips as it were to say
something, but changed his mind, and made a gesture towards the bottle,
which John Splendid speedily availed himself of with a "Here's one who
has no swither about it. Lord knows I have had few enough of life's
comforts this past week!"

Gordon sat with a Bible in his hand, abstracted, his eyes staring on a
window that looked on the branches of the highest tree about the castle.
He had been reading or praying with his master before the physician had
come in; he had been doing his duty (I could swear by his stern jaw),
and making MacCailein Mor writhe to the flame of a conscience revived.
There was a constraint on the company for some minutes, on no one more
than Argile, who sat propped up on his bolsters, and, fiddling with long
thin fingers with the fringes of his coverlet, looked every way but in
the eyes of M'Iver or myself. I can swear John was glad enough to escape
their glance. He was as little at ease as his master, made all the
fuss he could with his bottle, and drank his wine with far too great a
deliberation for a person generally pretty brisk with the beaker.

"It's a fine day," said he at last, breaking the silence. "The back of
the winter's broken fairly." Then he started and looked at me, conscious
that I might have some contempt for so frail an opening.

"Did you come here to speak about the weather?" asked MacCailein, with a
sour wearied smile.

"No," said M'Iver, ruffling up at once; "I came to ask when you are
going to take us back the road we came?"

"To--to--overbye?" asked MacCailein, baulking at the name.

"Just so; to Inverlochy," answered M'Iver. "I suppose we are to give
them a call when we can muster enough men?"

"Hadn't we better consider where we are first?" said MacCailein. Then he
put his fair hand through his ruddy locks and sighed. "Have you nothing
to say (and be done with it) abou