laimed
the Irishman.

"Mr. Creagh has just taken the words out of my mouth," cried Donald Roy.
"If you're wanting to lift a lassie or to carry the war to a foe I'll be
blithe to stand at your back. You may trust Red Donald for that
whatever."

"You put your finger on my ambitions, Captain Macdonald. I'm wanting to do
just those two things. You come to scratch so readily that I hope you have
had some practice of your own," I laughed.

There was wine on the table and I filled the glasses.

"If no other sword leaves scabbard mine shall," I cried in a flame of
new-born enthusiasm. "Gentlemen, I give you the King over the water."

"King James! God bless him," echoed Balmerino and Creagh.

"Deoch slaint an Righ! (The King's Drink). And win or lose, we shall have
a beautiful time of it whatever," cried Donald gaily.

An hour later Kenneth Montagu, Jacobite, walked home arm in arm with
Anthony Creagh and Donald Roy Macdonald. He was setting forth to them a
tale of an imprisoned maid and a plan for the rescue of that same lady.

CHAPTER IV

OF LOVE AND WAR

All day the rain had splashed down with an unusual persistence, but now
there was a rising wind and a dash of clear sky over to the south which
promised fairer weather. I was blithe to see it, for we had our night's
work cut out for us and a driving storm would not add to our comfort.

From my hat, from the elbows of my riding-coat, and from my boot-heels
constant rivulets ran; but I took pains to keep the pistols under my
doublet dry as toast. At the courtyard of the inn I flung myself from my
horse and strode to the taproom where my companions awaited me. In truth
they were making the best of their circumstances. A hot water jug steamed
in front of the hearth where Creagh lolled in a big armchair. At the table
Captain Macdonald was compounding a brew by the aid of lemons, spices, and
brandy. They looked the picture of content, and I stood streaming in the
doorway a moment to admire the scene.

"What luck, Montagu?" asked Creagh.

"They're at 'The Jolly Soldier' all right _en route_ for Epsom," I told
him. "Arrived a half hour before I left. Hamish Gorm is hanging about
there to let us know when they start. Volney has given orders for a fresh
relay of horses, so they are to continue their journey to-night."

"And the lady?"

"The child looks like an angel of grief. She is quite out of hope. Faith,
her despair took me by the heart."

"My certes! I