ent: Doom
crouched a little upon bending knees, with a straight arm, parrying the
assault of a point that flew in wild disorder. He broke ground for a
few yards with feints in quarte. He followed on a riposte with a
lunge--short, sharp, conclusive, for it took his victim in the chest
and passed through at the other side with a thud of the hilt against
his body. Sim fell with a groan, his company clustering round him, not
wholly forgetful of retaliation, but influenced by his hand that forbade
their interference with his enemy.

"Clean up your filth!" said Doom in the Gaelic, sheathing his sword and
turning to join his daughter. "He took Drimdarroch from me, and now, by
God! he's welcome to Doom."

"Not our old friends, surely?" said Count Victor, looking backward at
the cluster of men.

"The same," said Doom, and kept his counsel further.

Count Victor put his arm round Olivia's waist. The boat's prow fell off;
the sail filled; she ran with a pleasant ripple through the waves, and
there followed her a cry that only Doom of all the company knew was a
coronach, followed by the music of Sim MacTaggart's flageolet.

It rose above the ripple of the waves, above the screaming of the birds,
finally stilling the coronach, and the air it gave an utterance to was
the same that had often charmed the midnight bower, failing at the last
abruptly as it had always done before.

"By heavens! it is my Mary's favourite air, and that was all she knew of
it," said Doom, and his face grew white with memory and a speculation.

"Had he found the end of that air," said Count Victor, "he had found, as
he said himself, another man. But I, perhaps, had never found Olivia!"

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Doom Castle, by Neil Munro

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