en debated with me more
than was becoming, I do not recall till this day that ye have
disobeyed me. But be it so, since this gives pleasure to his
lordship" (who had crept over and was standing, as it were, under
the shield of his bold granddaughter). "Only, one word of warning,
if ye be not too proud and high-minded to take it. Albeit this man
has the heart of Pontius Pilate, and will be the curse of everyone
that has to do with him, yet the story goes that the master whom he
serves has given him a fair face and beguiling words, and I bid you
beware. But from what I hear outside it is time I left. Your guest
is at your gate: I pray you may have comfort in him, and that he may
not bring a shadow to this home." And Lady Cochrane swept her
majestic way out of the dining-hall; and retired to her apartments
in another wing.

As she left, the earl, with Jean, went to the public door of the hall
to meet Lord Ross and Claverhouse, who, without waiting for any
invitation to stay in the castle, had come to pay their respects to
the earl. They were already ascending the narrow stone stairs by which
visitors came from the courtyard to the hall, and almost as soon as
the earl and Jean had taken their places, Lord Ross came through the
doorway, and having bowed to the earl turned aside to present
Claverhouse. Jean saw him for the first time framed in the arch of the
door, and never while she lived, even after she was the loyal wife of
another man, forgot the sight. Ten years had passed since Graham
jested at the camp-fire with his comrades of the English Volunteers,
on the night before the battle of Sineffe, but war, with many
anxieties, had left only slight traces upon his face. He was no longer
a soldier of fortune, but the commander of "His Majesty's Own Regiment
of Horse," and a colonel in the king's army. By this time also he was
a member of the Privy Council, and a favorite person at Court; he had
held various offices and taken part in many public affairs. Yet he was
the same gracious and engaging figure, carrying on his face the
changeless bloom of youth, though now thirty-six years of age. He was
in the handsome uniform of his regiment, completed by a polished and
gleaming breastplate over which his neckerchief of white lace
streamed, while his face looked out from the wealth of brown hair
which fell over his shoulders. His left hand rested on his sword, and
Jean marked the refinement and delicacy of his right hand, which w