Part 66 (1/2)

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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s before we go!”

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

”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 gla.s.s with me, you will not refuse it? It is only a gla.s.s 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?” she said, coldly.

”Why, sweetheart, are you not glad? Is not that the only gladness left for you and for me, that we should drink one gla.s.s together, and clasp hands, and say good-by? What else is there left? What else could come to you and to me? And it may not be this night, or to-morrow night; but one night I think it will come; and then, sweetheart, we will have one more gla.s.s together, before the end.”

He went on deck. He called Hamish.

”Hamish,” said he, in a grave, matter of fact way, ”I don't like the look of this evening. Did you say the sheiling was still on the island?”

”Oh yes, Sir Keith,” said Hamish, with great joy; for he thought his advice was going to be taken, after all.

”Well, now, you know the gales, when they begin, sometimes last for two, or three, or four days; and I will ask you to see that Christina takes a good store of things to the sheiling before the darkness comes on. Take plenty of things now, Hamish, and put them in the sheiling, for I am afraid this is going to be a wild night.”

Now, indeed, all the red light had gone away; and as the sun went down there was nothing but a spectral whiteness over the sea and the sky; and the atmosphere was so close and sultry that it seemed to suffocate one.

Moreover, there was a dead calm; if they had wanted to get away from this exposed place, how could they? They could not get into the gig and pull this great yacht over to Loch Tua.

It was with a light heart that Hamish set about this thing; and Christina forthwith filled a hamper with tinned meats, and bread, and whiskey, and what not. And fuel was taken ash.o.r.e, too; and candles, and a store of matches. If the gales were coming on, as appeared likely from this ominous-looking evening, who could tell how many days and nights the young master--and the English lady, too, if he desired her company--might not have to stay ash.o.r.e, while the men took the chance of the sea with this yacht, or perhaps seized the occasion of some lull to make for some place of shelter? There was Loch Tua, and there was the bay at Bunessan, and there was the little channel called Polterriv, behind the rocks opposite Iona. Any shelter at all was better than this exposed place, with the treacherous anchorage.

Hamish and Duncan Cameron returned to the yacht.

”Will you go ash.o.r.e now, Sir Keith?” the old man said.

”Oh no; I am not going ash.o.r.e yet, It is not yet time to run away, Hamish.”

He spoke in a friendly and pleasant fas.h.i.+on, though Hamish, in his increasing alarm, thought it no proper time for jesting. They hauled the gig up to the davits, however, and again the yacht lay in dead silence in this little bay.

The evening grew to dusk; the only change visible in the spectral world of pale yellow-white mist was the appearance in the sky of a number of small, detached bulbous-looking clouds of a dusky blue-gray. They had not drifted hither, for there was no wind. They had only appeared. They were absolutely motionless.

But the heat and the suffocation in this atmosphere became almost insupportable. The men, with bare heads, and jerseys unb.u.t.toned at the neck, were continually going to the cask of fresh water beside the windla.s.s. Nor was there any change when the night came on. If anything, the night was hotter than the evening had been. They awaited in silence what might come of this ominous calm.

Hamish came aft.

”I beg your pardon, Sir Keith,” said he, ”but I am thinking we will have an anchor-watch to-night.”

”You will have no anchor-watch to-night,” Macleod answered, slowly, from out of the darkness. ”I will be all the anchor-watch you will need, Hamish, until the morning.”

”You, sir!” Hamish cried. ”I have been waiting to take you ash.o.r.e: and surely it is ash.o.r.e that you are going!”

Just as he had spoken there was a sound that all the world seemed to stand still to hear. It was a low murmuring sound of thunder; but it was so remote as almost to be inaudible. The next moment an awful thing occurred. The two men standing face to face in the dark suddenly found themselves in a blaze of blinding steel-blue light; and at the very same instant the thunder-roar crackled and shook all around them like the firing of a thousand cannon. How the wild echoes went booming over the sea! Then they were in the black night again. There was a period of awed silence.