tells all the time. But I had not seen much of
them, and nothing at all since the tale of the Black Colonel's escape
in the Pass had set the countryside talking and, doubtless, secretly
rejoicing.

It was a fine thing, a very fine thing, that he should have escaped
from the red-coats so perfectly, so dramatically. They were the living
tokens of a government which, on every ground of sentiment, was alien
to the Highland people, a government, moreover, that had been tactless
in its plans and its acts. The Black Colonel stood for a native royal
cause which had colour and flair, even if its genius for government had
been exhausted.

We soldiers were only disliked for what we represented, for the dry
Hanoverian salt we ate, not for ourselves, because most of us were
Highland by bone and heart. The Black Colonel was liked for what he
represented, rather than for himself. He had, indeed, a way of
commandeering other men's goods, when he needed them, that was
inconvenient to those others. But there was a strong local pride in
his name and achievements, as the name and achievements of a first-rate
fighting man, whose sword-handle held in its silver-work the letter
"S," standing for Stuart, an allegiance and a challenge never hidden by
him.

Naturally, like every other Forbes, Farquharson, or Gordon--I omit none
with those names--Marget would be quietly rejoicing over the Black
Colonel's success in out-manoeuvring us. I say "us," although I was
not in the pursuit, a fact, I reflected, which might relieve me a
little of Marget's scorn if she knew. Did she know? Had gossip
carried her that news also? It could not tell her that I was out of
the chase after the Black Colonel, because I was meeting him privately,
and that her affairs were the occasion of the meeting.

Of the dangers wrapped in all this, I was to have an inkling when I did
meet Marget, and that came about as if it did not matter, as if nothing
matters! I had been up the Don valley with a patrol, was returning,
and scarce a mile from Corgarff Castle, when I saw a woman's figure
ahead, going my road, a very soft and gracious sight, believe me,
against the hill-side. Soon, thanks either to my eyes which could then
see far, or to a man's feeling of instinct for the presence of a woman
who interests him, I discovered that it was Marget Forbes. She turned
round, perhaps at the approaching sound of our steady tramp, or perhaps
moved by some unconscious woman