ad
hoped. Even as I was speaking he had thrown himself back in his
chair, and sate resting his elbows on the arms, staring at me over
his finger-tips in the most disconcerting fashion without moving
a muscle of his face. I was positively afraid to venture a word
more under the spell of that equivocal gaze.

"Yes, yes, yes," he broke out, suddenly, drawing himself close up
to his desk and seizing a pen, with which he began making slow
notes on the paper before him.

"What did you say the young man's name was?" he muttered. "Oh, yes,
Nairn--Archibald Nairn. Yes. Fort William--eh? French officer in
active service. And you can give me your word he was not in arms--
eh?"

"I can, your Grace, without hesitation."

The moment I had spoken I saw my mistake. So did his Grace, who
wheeled round on me like a flash.

"Then, sir, I take it you are in a position to know!"

My blood fairly ran cold, for I saw only too clearly his folly of
manner was but a cloak, and that now it was quite as much a question
of myself as of Nairn.

"I am, your Grace," I answered, in my most assured tones.

"Perhaps you are able to produce a muster-roll of the rebel
forces--eh, Captain Fitzgerald? That would be highly satisfactory
in more ways than one."

"Surely, your Grace, this is no laughing matter. Your Grace has my
word of honour that Captain Nairn was not in Scotland until after
Culloden was fought--"

"--And lost--Captain Fitzgerald? Surely that is not the way for a
loyal subject to put it."

"I cannot cross swords with your Grace," I returned, with a low
bow to cover my trepidation; "even if our positions did not make
it an impossibility, it would be too unequal a contest."

The flattery was gross, and only my apprehensions could excuse its
clumsiness, but to my intense relief it availed, and he turned to
his desk again, while I held my breath expectant of his next attack.
But none came. He muttered and mumbled to himself, while we stood
stock-still, scarce venturing to look at each other, for the fate
of Nairn was hanging in the balance, and a straw might turn it
either way. At length he picked up his pen and wrote rapidly for
a few moments; then carefully sanding the paper he read it over
slowly, still muttering and shaking his head; but at last, turning
to Margaret, who all this time had remained on her knees, he handed
it to her, saying:

"There, miss; take it, take it. Get married; get your brother
married; but for Heave