'God--be--merciful--to me--a sinner.'" Once more he opened his
eyes and let them rest upon the face of the girl bending over him.
"Yes," he said, "you helped me to believe in God's mercy." With a sigh
as of content he settled himself quietly against the shoulders of his
dead horse.

"Good old comrade," he said, "good-by!" He closed his eyes and drew a
deep breath. They waited for another, but there was no more.

"He is gone," said the doctor.

"Gone?" cried Moira. "Gone? Ochone, but he was the gallant gentleman!"
she wailed, lapsing into her Highland speech. "Oh, but he had the brave
heart and the true heart. Ochone! Ochone!" She swayed back and forth
upon her knees with hands clasped and tears running down her cheeks,
bending over the white face that lay so still in the moonlight and
touched with the majesty of death.

"Come, Moira! Come, Moira!" said her brother surprised at her unwonted
display of emotion. "You must control yourself."

"Leave her alone. Let her cry. She is in a hard spot," said Dr. Martin
in a sharp voice in which grief and despair were mingled.

Cameron glanced at his friend's face. It was the face of a haggard old
man.

"You are used up, old boy," he said kindly, putting his hand on the
doctor's arm. "You need rest."

"Rest?" said the doctor. "Rest? Not I. But you do. And you too, Miss
Moira," he added gently. "Come," giving her his hand, "you must get
home." There was in his voice a tone of command that made the girl look
up quickly and obey.

"And you?" she said. "You must be done."

"Done? Yes, but what matter? Take her home, Cameron."

"And what about you?" inquired Cameron.

"Smith, the constable and I will look after--him--and the horse. Send a
wagon to-morrow morning."

Without further word the brother and sister mounted their horses.

"Good-by, old man. See you to-morrow," said Cameron.

"Good-night," said the doctor shortly.

The girl gave him her hand.

"Good-night," she said simply, her eyes full of a dumb pain.

"Good-by, Miss Moira," said the doctor, who held her hand for just a
moment as if to speak again, then abruptly he turned his back on her
without further word and so stood with never a glance more after her.
It was for him a final farewell to hopes that had lived with him and had
warmed his heart for the past three years. Now they were dead, dead as
the dead man upon whose white still face he stood looking down.

"Thief, murderer, outlaw," he muttered to