ly before him, an
unexpected danger had suddenly arisen. Roderic the Rover was still
alive. The battle which had brought about the death of so many of his
companions had spared him. The raging elements that had destroyed so
many of the ships had left Roderic's galley unharmed. He had voyaged
into the far north with the defeated King Hakon, and after Hakon's death
he had returned to Gigha. On any day he might be expected again in Bute.
Aasta had just heard this unwelcome news from a fisherman who had come
ashore at Ascog, and she was questioning in her mind how she might
profit by the occasion and, unknown to Kenric, go secretly over to Gigha
and compass the death of this powerful enemy of Bute. She hated Earl
Roderic as the cushat hates the nighthawk, and if by some subtle means
she could bring him to his death, then might she deem herself fortunate
indeed, and her own life not wholly thrown away by a sacrifice that
would be the means of ensuring lasting happiness to the lord of Bute.
A new light beamed in her large eyes as she determined at all hazards to
attempt this thing.
Presently she rose from her little wooden stool and took down a heavy
cloak that she threw about her shoulders. Then from under a sheepskin
mat she drew forth a long sharp dirk, which she placed in her leathern
belt. She went further into the cave and put some bread cakes into her
wallet. Then drawing aside a curtain that shut off a side chamber in the
rocky walls, she held up a lighted cruse lamp and looked for a few
silent moments upon the sleeping form of Elspeth Blackfell.
"Fare you well, Elspeth," she murmured softly. "It may be that I shall
never see you again -- no, never again. But God will reward you for the
great goodness you have shown to your poor Aasta. Fare you well."
As she sighed and dropped the curtain she turned to leave the cave, and
there crept towards her the gaunt form of a great dog wolf, upon whose
breast there was a patch of pure white hair. The animal lazily stretched
himself and yawned, showing his long red tongue and his white fangs.
Aasta bent down and patted his shaggy coat.
"No, Lufa, it is alone I go. Get back to your corner," she said coaxingly.
The animal turned tail, and with the obedience of a tame dog went back
into the darkness and lay down on his mat of sheepskin, while Aasta,
drawing her cloak about her, slipped silently out into the clear
twilight and faced the keen east wind.
Turning along a
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