earing
bewrayed me. In threading our way to the door I brushed accidentally
against Mistress Westerleigh. She drew aside haughtily, then gave a little
scream of recognition.

"Kenn Montagu, of all men in the world--and turned Quaker, too. Gog's
life, 'tis mine, 'tis mine! The hundred guineas are mine. I call you all
to witness I have taken the desperate highwayman. 'Tall, strong, and
extremely well-looking; carries himself like a gentleman.' This way, sir,"
she cried merrily, and laying hold of my coat-tails began to drag me
toward the men.

There was a roar of laughter at this, and the pink-white youth lounged
forward to offer me a hand of welcome I took pains not to see.

"Faith, the lady has the right of it, Montagu. That big body of yours is
worth a hundred guineas now if it never was before," laughed Selwyn.

"Sorry to disappoint the lady, but unfortunately my business carries me in
another direction," I said stiffly.

"But Lud! 'Tis not fair. You're mine. I took you, and I want the reward,"
cries the little lady with the sparkling eyes.

Aileen stood by my side like a queen cut out of marble, turning neither to
the right nor to the left, her head poised regally on her fine shoulders
as if she saw none in the room worthy a look.

"This must be the baggage about which they fought. Faith, as fine a piece
as I have seen," said Craven to March in an audible aside, his bold eyes
fixed insolently on the Highland girl.

Aileen heard him, and her face flamed. I set my teeth and swore to pay him
for that some day, but I knew this to be no fitting time for a brawl.
Despite me the fellow forced my hand. He planted himself squarely in our
way and ogled my charge with impudent effrontery. Me he quite ignored,
while his insulting eyes raked her fore and aft. My anger seethed, boiled
over. Forward slid my foot behind his heel, my forearm under his chin. I
threw my weight forward in a push. His head went back as though shot from
a catapult, and next moment Sir James Craven measured his length on the
ground. With the girl on my arm I pushed through the company to the door.
They cackled after me like solan-geese, but I shut and locked the door in
their faces and led Aileen to her room. She marched up the stairs like a
goddess, beautiful in her anger as one could desire. The Gaelic heart is a
good hater, and 'twas quite plain that Miss Macleod had inherited a
capacity for anger.

"How dare they? How dare they? What have I d