e things about him I can not understand."

"They are his principles, perhaps," I suggested dryly.

The duke laughed aloud.

"That was worthy of Mistress Stair herself," he said, his eyes filled
with laughter.

"It all comes to this in the end, John Montrose--if you know anything
of women. If ye kill Dandy Carmichael you need never expect to see
Nancy's face again. The boy is one of her first remembrances, and his
father is almost as dear to her as I am myself. What kind of place are
you making with her to kill one who, by all old ties, has become dear?"

"I've no intention of killing him," he said. "I intend to let him have
a thrust at me with his sword, and then get him sent from the country
for it."

I saw his plan in a minute.

"And suppose I tell Nancy what ye've just told me?" I cried.

He leaned across the table and touched me lightly on the shoulder.

"That is my power," he said, "my knowledge of people. I know your code,
Lord Stair, and though I were the greatest scoundrel on earth, 'tis not
in you to betray the confidence which I have reposed in you, even to
help a friend."

CHAPTER XVI

NANCY STAIR ARRANGES MATTERS

I rode back to Stair, having accomplished nothing whatever with the
duke, sick at heart and baffled completely by the shameless honesty of
the man. Whiles I made up my mind to ride on to Arran and tell Sandy of
the whole matter, and next to find Dand and see what common sense might
do with him, though his deil's temper argued against any satisfaction
being obtained by this move.

As I turned into the policy I was met by one of the grooms, who rode in
some haste with a letter in the band of his hat. Instinct told me that
his errand was relative to the trouble brewing, and I immediately
jumped at a conclusion, which was that Nancy had heard of the quarrel
and had sent for one or other of her fire-eating friends to come to
her.

With no small interest, therefore, I watched the man close the Holm
gate and set off at a breakneck speed toward Edinburgh, where the duke
lay.

At the dinner I asked Nancy what she had been doing in my absence.

"I read some Fergusson and some of the rhymes of that idiot King James
VI, and then I went over Mr. Pitcairn's indictment of Mungo Armstrong.
Jock, it is written with the fairness of the judge himself. It is great
work! He's a wonderful man, Pitcairn!" which occupations surely showed
no great perturbation of mind.

After the meal she tol