ood there. Only the
unexpected would make a victor or a loser, and the unexpected did not
happen, as it does sometimes.

Red Murdo tried a last torrential rush, but the sergeant withstood it,
and they merely locked themselves together. Nay, they were now so
exhausted that they could only hang on to each other for support, a
spectacle which brought me to their side. Their bulging eyes stared at
me with the pleading look which a horse has after being driven too far
and too fast. When I divided them by a touch of my hand they both fell
to the ground like logs and so lay.

Honour was satisfied, the hated oath of the kilt had not to be eaten by
anybody, and I was glad.

_X.--The Way of a Woman_

Between you and me, I fancy that the average, natural woman likes to
think any man who is after her a bit of the devil. It makes her pulse
beat, if not her heart; it gives a fine spice to the pursuit, and she
is confident there will be no capture, unless she wills it. Anyhow, I
was not going to help the Black Colonel in his schemes by holding him
up as a hero of that order, and he would have made the comment that he
needed not the service from me.

Marget Forbes and I had fallen into the pleasant custom of lending each
other such books as came the way of our remote land, and I called at
the Dower House to leave her one, a newly imprinted volume entitled
"Robinson Crusoe." I did not seem to wish to make meetings with her,
though I was glad of them, so I chose a time, the mid-afternoon, at
which she and her mother usually walked out. However, Marget was at
home, and she called to me from the parlour, would I not enter and rest
a minute? Necessarily I must step inside to say I would not wait, and
necessarily I found myself sitting down near her.

"Mother," she said, "is on her weekly round among the sick and old, to
whom a kind word from her is like gold, of which we now have none to
give. Usually I go with her, but to-day she would have it that I
looked tired, and she bade me stay indoors and rest. I'm glad you
called and brought me a book, especially this wonderful 'Robinson
Crusoe,' of which I have heard vaguely, and which they say is founded
on the adventure of a Scotsman, Alexander Selkirk. You are always
thoughtful, or shall I say sometimes?" and Marget looked as if she
expected me to understand the qualification.

Was it a reproach that I did not come into her company often enough;
was it a playful invi