g at me! Or you want to call me a
coward? Don't you know I should be afraid of the ghost of the shepherd
who killed himself? Don't you know that the English people call me
a coward?"

"May their souls dwell in the downmost hall of perdition!" said Hamish,
with his cheeks becoming a gray white; "and every woman that ever came
of the accursed race!"

He looked at the old man for a second, and he gripped his hand.

"Do not say that, Hamish--that is folly. But you have been my friend. My
mother will not forget you--it is not the way of a Macleod to
forget--whatever happens to me."

"Sir Keith!" Hamish cried, "I do not know what you mean! But you will go
ashore before the night?"

"Go ashore?" Macleod answered, with a return to this wild bantering
tone, "when I am going to see my sweetheart? Oh no! Tell Christina, now!
Tell Christina to ask the young English lady to come into the saloon,
for I have something to say to her. Be quick, Hamish!"

Hamish went away; and before long he returned with the answer that the
young English lady was in the saloon. And now he was no longer haggard
and piteous, but joyful, and there was a strange light in his eyes.

"Sweetheart," said he, "are you waiting for me at last? I have brought
you a long way. Shall we drink a glass now at the end of the voyage?"

"Do you wish to insult me?" said she; but there was no anger in her
voice: there was more of fear in her eyes as she regarded him.

"You have no other message for me than the one you gave me last night,
Gerty?" said he, almost cheerfully. "It is all over, then? You would go
away from me forever? But we will drink a glass before we go!"

He sprang forward, and caught both her hands in his with the grip of a
vise.

"Do you know what you have done, Gerty?" said he, in a low voice. "Oh,
you have soft, smooth, English ways; and you are like a rose-leaf; and
you are like a queen, whom all people are glad to serve. But do you know
that you have killed a man's life? And there is no penalty for that in
the South, perhaps; but you are no longer in the South. And if you have
this very night to drink a glass with me, you will not refuse it? It is
only a glass of the coal-black wine!"

She struggled back from him, for there was a look in his face that
frightened her. But she had a wonderful self-command.

"Is that the message I was to hear?" said she, coldly.

"Why, sweetheart, are you not glad? Is not that the only gladness left
for yo