r. Still another
draught, and another, and another, until the bottle was emptied, and
he flung it on the floor.

After that he picked up the key and the letter, and shambled out into
the passage, laughing as he went.

"Where are you now, old mole?" he shouted, and again he shouted,
until the little house rang with his thick voice and his peals of
wild laughter.

The old priest came out of his room in his nightshirt with a lighted
candle in his hand.

"God bless me, what's this?" said the old man.

"What's this? Why, your bondman, your bondman, and the key, the key,"
shouted Jason, and he laughed once more. "Did you think you would
never see it again? Did you think I would run away and leave you? Not
I, old mole, not I."

"Has he gone?" said the priest, glancing fearfully into the room.

"Gone? Why, yes, of course he has gone," laughed Jason. "They have
both gone."

"Both!" said the priest, looking up inquiringly, and at sight of his
face Jason laughed louder than ever.

"So you didn't see it, old mole?"

"See what?"

"That she was his wife?"

"His wife? Who?"

"Why, your housekeeper, as you called her."

"God bless my soul! And when are they coming back?"

"They are never coming back."

"Never?"

"I have taken care that they never can."

"Dear me! dear me! What does it all mean?"

"It means that the despatch is on its way from Reykjavik, and will be
here to-day. Ha! ha! ha!"

"To-day? God save us! And do you intend--no, it cannot be--and
yet--_do_ you intend to die instead of him?"

"Well, and what of that? It's nothing to you, is it? And as for
myself, there are old scores against me, and if death had not come to
me soon, I should have gone to it."

"I'll not stand by and witness it."

"You will, you shall, you must. And listen--here is a letter. It is
for him. Address it to her by the first ship to the Shetlands. The
Thora, Shetlands--that will do. And now bring me some more of your
brenni-vin, you good old soul, for I am going to take a sleep at
last--a long sleep--a long, long sleep at last."

"God pity you! God help you! God bless you!"

"Ay, ay, pray to your God. But _I'll_ not pray to him. He doesn't
make His world for wretches like me. I'm a pagan, am I? So be it!
Good-night, you dear old mole! Good-night! I'll keep to my bargain,
never fear. Good-night. Never mind your brenni-vin, I'll sleep
without it. Good-night! Good-night!"

Saying this, amid broken peals of unearthly l