Menteith, in the meanwhile, leaving the new-found relations to their mutual feelings of mingled emotion, was eagerly discussing with Montrose the consequences of this discovery.  “I should now see,” said the Marquis, “even had I not before observed it, that your interest in this discovery, my dear Menteith, has no small reference to your own happiness.  You love this new-found lady,—­your affection is returned.  In point of birth, no exceptions can be made; in every other respect, her advantages are equal to those which you yourself possess—­think, however, a moment.  Sir Duncan is a fanatic—­Presbyterian, at least—­in arms against the King; he is only with us in the quality of a prisoner, and we are, I fear, but at the commencement of a long civil war.  Is this a time, think you, Menteith, for you to make proposals for his heiress?  Or what chance is there that he will now listen to it?”

Passion, an ingenious, as well as an eloquent advocate, supplied the young nobleman with a thousand answers to these objections.  He reminded Montrose that the Knight of Ardenvohr was neither a bigot in politics nor religion.  He urged his own known and proved zeal for the royal cause, and hinted that its influence might be extended and strengthened by his wedding the heiress of Ardenvohr.  He pleaded the dangerous state of Sir Duncan’s wound, the risk which must be run by suffering the young lady to be carried into the country of the Campbells, where, in case of her father’s death, or continued indisposition, she must necessarily be placed under the guardianship of Argyle, an event fatal to his (Menteith’s) hopes, unless he could stoop to purchase his favour by abandoning the King’s party.

Montrose allowed the force of these arguments, and owned, although the matter was attended with difficulty, yet it seemed consistent with the King’s service that it should be concluded as speedily as possible.

“I could wish,” said he, “that it were all settled in one way or another, and that this fair Briseis were removed from our camp before the return of our Highland Achilles, Allan M’Aulay.—­I fear some fatal feud in that quarter, Menteith—­and I believe it would be best that Sir Duncan be dismissed on his parole, and that you accompany him and his daughter as his escort.  The journey can be made chiefly by water, so will not greatly incommode his wound—­and your own, my friend, will be an honourable excuse for the absence of some time from my camp.”

“Never!” said Menteith.  “Were I to forfeit the very hope that has so lately dawned upon me, never will I leave your Excellency’s camp while the royal standard is displayed.  I should deserve that this trifling scratch should gangrene and consume my sword-arm, were I capable of holding it as an excuse for absence at this crisis of the King’s affairs.”

“On this, then, you are determined?” said Montrose.

“As fixed as Ben-Nevis,” said the young nobleman.