“She is devoted to him,” answered Jerome.
“Nay—give her credit for her greatest virtue,” he replied. “She would do anything for Breadalbane. I think he is very fortunate.”
Delia bit her lip and dropped her eyes under Jerome’s calm gaze; she was nervous, excited, almost beyond bearing; she rose up impatiently.
“Mr. Caryl—you told me the Macdonalds had taken the oath,” she said with burning cheeks. “And she—this woman—told me they had not—and she should know.”
Jerome turned in his chair to look on her.
“Why—’tis not January yet,” he said gently. “There is time—I have assurance from Lochiel that all the clans will take the oaths.”
“And what matter for the Macdonalds if the others come in? They had their warning....”
Delia moved round the room restlessly with her head lifted, her eyes fixed absently.
“Believe me,” said Jerome softly, “we can do no more than we have.”
“No, no,” she answered hastily, “’tis only it surprised me—they leave it late.”
Jerome caught a questioning look on Sir Perseus’s face and delicately changed the subject.
“I hope Wedderburn will not keep me waiting,” he said in a low voice. “He was to cross from France and arrive at Romney on the twentieth—meet me in London at ‘The Sleeping Queen’ on Christmas Eve—where we shall stay—I told you—’tis ostensibly an inn, but they have a secret press there.”
“Ah—with Breadalbane in the next room—hush!” said Perseus anxiously.
“Breadalbane himself will be one of us before we have finished,” smiled Jerome. “And besides I have faith in the walls—as I was saying, I can hardly proceed without these instructions from France, and I hope the storms will not delay Wedderburn.”
As he spoke they heard the wind whistle and struggle at the ill-fitting windows and the snow falling down the chimney hiss into the fire.
“Dangerous weather for the packet to cross,” whispered Delia.
“It has done it in worse,” said Jerome. “And there is less fear of detection—government spies are not likely to be on Romney Marsh this time of the year.”
“What fools the Dutchman is served with!” he said. “Think of the times that packet has run to and fro—think of the messages sent—the cargoes of Jacobites shipped—and no one has ever suspected—”
“Our agent, Hunt the smuggler, is trustworthy—and well-paid,” answered Jerome. “And his hut is desolate enough.”