She carried her point, and the two went away without let or hindrance from the master of Fair View, who leaned against the stem of the oak and watched them go.  He had been very ill, and the hour’s search, together with this unwonted beating of his heart, had made him desperately weary,—­too weary to do aught but go slowly and without overmuch of thought to the spot where he had left his horse, mount it, and ride as slowly homeward.  To-morrow, he told himself, he would manage differently; at least, she should be made to hear him.  In the mean time there was the night to be gotten through.  MacLean, he remembered, was coming to the great house.  What with wine and cards, thought might for a time be pushed out of doors.

CHAPTER XXIII

A DUEL

Juba, setting candles upon a table in Haward’s bedroom, chanced to spill melted wax upon his master’s hand, outstretched on the board.  “Damn you!” cried Haward, moved by sudden and uncontrollable irritation.  “Look what you are doing, sirrah!”

The negro gave a start of genuine surprise.  Haward could punish,—­Juba had more than once felt the weight of his master’s cane,—­but justice had always been meted out with an equable voice and a fine impassivity of countenance.  “Don’t stand there staring at me!” now ordered the master as irritably as before.  “Go stir the fire, draw the curtains, shut out the night!  Ha, Angus, is that you?”

MacLean crossed the room to the fire upon the hearth, and stood with his eyes upon the crackling logs.  “You kindle too soon your winter fire,” he said.  “These forests, flaming red and yellow, should warm the land.”

“Winter is at hand.  The air strikes cold to-night,” answered Haward, and, rising, began to pace the room, while MacLean watched him with compressed lips and gloomy eyes.  Finally he came to a stand before a card table, set full in the ruddy light of the fire, and taking up the cards ran them slowly through his fingers.  “When the lotus was all plucked and Lethe drained, then cards were born into the world,” he said sententiously.  “Come, my friend, let us forget awhile.”

They sat down, and Haward dealt.

“I came to the house landing before sunset,” began the storekeeper slowly.  “I found you gone.”

“Ay,” said Haward, gathering up his cards. “’Tis yours to play.”

“Juba told me that you had called for Mirza, and had ridden away to the glebe house.”

“True,” answered the other.  “And what then?”

There was a note of warning in his voice, but MacLean did not choose to heed.  “I rowed on down the river, past the mouth of the creek,” he continued, with deliberation.  “There was a mound of grass and a mass of colored vines”—­

“And a blood-red oak,” finished Haward coldly.  “Shall we pay closer regard to what we are doing?  I play the king.”

“You were there!” exclaimed the Highlander.  “You—­not Jean Hugon—­searched for and found the poor maid’s hiding-place.”  The red came into his tanned cheek.  “Now, by St. Andrew!” he began; then checked himself.