“Never,” sneered The McAllister, scornfully.  “I am not afraid of that.”

“Well, that is comforting to you at any rate, sir; then why care about my going to join his army, for I am going, nothing can stop me now.”  And Ivan McAllister’s bonnie face glowed with an enthusiasm almost pathetic as he thought of his beloved leader, for whom he would stake all his worldly prospects, aye, and if need be his very life.

“Ivan McAllister,” said his father, “I thought ye had mair common sense, though it is rare in lads o’ your age.  Ye can never imagine that a pack o’ young idiots are going to overturn the whole country.”

“No, sir, I do not, but a mighty army is to join us from the south; in England Prince Chairlie has many friends, and to-morrow I go to join them.  The next day a mighty host will move to the west coast to welcome our future King.  And then——­”

“Do you know, Ivan, that by your mad folly you seriously endanger the McAllister estates?  An’ though it is well known at court that I am not a Jacobite, yet I have many enemies who will soon tell the King my son is with the rebels.  You endanger, too, your brother Nowell’s position at court.”

“Well, father, I have promised to go, and a McAllister never breaks his word.”

“What! you are determined?  You persist in your selfish course of folly?  You will go in spite of all I say?”

“Yes, father, I must go, my word is pledged.”

The McAllister’s ruddy face grew white with anger, he clenched his hands as if he would strike his son and by main force reduce him to obedience, then with a great effort he controlled his anger and said in an ominously calm voice:  “Then, Ivan McAllister, I tell ye, never mair shall ye set foot in this house, at least, when I am above ground; never mair call yourself son of mine, and may——­” raising his right hand solemnly as if invoking supernatural aid.

But here he was interrupted by a gentle voice which said: 

“Nay, nay, Nowell, ye shall not curse your son,” and a soft hand was laid on his upraised arm.

The McAllister paused and turned towards the speaker, a gentler expression coming over his stern face, for Lady Jean had the greatest influence over her husband, an influence which was always for good.

She was a tall, slightly built woman of some fifty-eight years of age.  Her hair was snow-white, contrasting admirably with her clear complexion and dark eyes, and was combed back high above her forehead, and surmounted by a mutch (cap) of finest lace.  She was dressed in a gown of pale green silk, which trailed in soft folds behind her and made a rustling noise as she walked.

A most distinguished lady was Jean McAllister, for the blood of the Stuarts ran in her veins.

Her face was beautiful, though not altogether with the beauty of correct features, and certainly not with the beauty of youth, but it had in it that indescribable loveliness, which one sees only in the faces of very good women.  It was what might be called a helpful face, and had upon it that reflection of a divine light—­all sympathetic natures possess, to some degree.