in
all probability, the factor was. And Robert Pilgrim when he saw him,
wagging his red beard at him, would shout, "Ha, so you heard me
whistle, and have come like a dog!"

He drew himself upright and stepped back from the gateway. No, he
could not endure that. Any death was preferable to the price that he
would have to pay for such shelter.

He worked his way along the wall till he stood beneath the window
where the fort was assembled. It was a comfort to him to hear again
the sound of voices. He listened to the fiddling and recognised it as
that of Sandy McQuean, the half-breed son of a famous Orkney man. He
had learnt his art from his father. They were all Scotch airs that he
played. He could sing, when he chose, with a Highland accent, and had
caught the knack of imbuing what he sang with an intolerable pathos.

The stamping of feet had ceased, but the violinist wandered on.
Presently a new melody began to emerge from the improvisations, and a
man's voice rose above the storm. The words he sang were _The Flowers
o' the Forest_:

"I've seen the smiling
Of fortune beguiling;
I've felt all its favours, and found its decay;
Sweet was its blessing,
Kind its caressing;
But now 'tis fled--fled far away."

Granger shifted his feet uneasily as he listened, and half-turned to
go.

As he did so, he found that someone was standing close behind him. He
did not see his face, but one glance was enough to warn him. He dodged
and ran to the river. The man was following him again. He took the
direction which was open to him, and set out down-stream, returning to
the portage.

The wind was dead against him, blinding his eyes and choking him with
snow. He bowed his head and struggled on. He made a brave effort, but
he knew that he was slowly freezing. His flesh was icy and his bones
seemed heavy, weighing him down. The blood halted, and leapt forward,
and halted in his veins and arteries, as though there were frequent
stoppages past which it had to squeeze its way; he could hear it
surging.

Gradually his physical pain grew less and, as it did so, his mind
attained an unwonted clearness. He had somewhat the same experience as
is said to come to drowning men in their last moments of
consciousness. He was able to review his life as a whole and justly,
attributing to each separate action its proper importance, and share
of praise or blame. He realised that his hiding from Robert Pilgrim on
H