foe. Fine have I paid
mine. He will be thinking me the true friend in his hour of need,"
finished Donald bitterly.

"You don't know him. The temper of the man is not so grudging. His joy in
your escape will help deaden his own pain. Besides, what could you do for
him if you were with him at the end? 'Twould be only one more sacrifice."

The grim dour Highland sternness hung heavy on Donald's face.

"I could stand shoulder to shoulder with him and curse the whigs at all
events. I could cry with him 'God save King James' in the teeth of the
sidier roy."

Volney clapped his hands softly. "Hear, hear!" he cried with flaming eyes.
"Almost thou persuadest me to be a Jacobite."

The Gael turned to him impetuously, his blue eyes (as I conceive) moist
with emotion.

"Man, could I persuade you to be saving the lad? It was for this that I
waited in your rooms to see you. They say that you are a favourite of
princes, that what you ask you get. Do for once a fine thing and ask this
boy's life."

"They exaggerate my power. But for argument's sake suppose it true. Why
should I ask it? What have I to gain by it?"

Volney, his eyes fixed on the fire, asked the question as much to himself
as to the Highlander. The manner of his tone suggested that it was not a
new one to him.

"Gain! Who spoke of gain? Are you a Jew peddler or an English gentleman?"
cried Donald.

"They call me dissolute, gambler, profligate. These be hard names, but I
have earned them all. I make no apologies and offer no excuses. As I have
lived my life, so have I lived it. For buttered phrases I have no taste.
Call me libertine, or call me man of fashion; 'tis all one. My evil
nature--_C'est plus fort que moi_. At least I have not played the
hypocrite. No canting sighs! No lapses to morality and prayers! No vices
smugly hidden! The plain straight road to hell taken at a gallop!" So,
with chin in hand and dark eyes lit by the flickering flame, this roue and
sentimentalist philosophized.

"And Montagu?" cried the Gael, harking back to his prosaic text.

"Has made his bed and he must lie in it."

"By Heaven, who ruined him and made an outlaw of him? Who drove him to
rebellion?"

"You imply that I strewed his bed with nettles. Perhaps. 'Tis well my
shoulders are broad, else they could not bear all that is laid upon
them."

"You would never be letting a petty private grudge influence you?"

Volney turned, stung to the quick.

"You go too far, Captain