r,
gave no orders until the skiffs were offshore and rowing hard for the
_Gull_, waiting with her sails all aback.

But for me, at that laughing I turned, and I saw the ruddy face of Dan
McBride blench like linen, his legs become weak like a man that has a
mortal blow, and he came to his son. Bryde was on his back at his full
stretch on the shore, and his right arm under his head, with a little
switch of hazel in his hand; and lying against his breast with her arms
round his neck was Helen.

Margaret McBride was on her knees, and her hand held in the fast grip
of her man.

They brought lanterns round us now, and I would have lifted Helen, for
the dark stain on her back was growing and growing.

"Let me be," she whispered; "I am happy."

And then there came on the face of Bryde a slow smile, and his eyes
opened wide.

"I think I am not hurt--my shoulder--a lass came between----" and then
in a loud voice of terror, "Margaret, Margaret."

"I am s-safe, Bryde--safe--it is Helen." Margaret was weeping, and at
these words Helen spoke to Bryde, even as we were staunching her wound.

"My Bryde," said she with a little smile, "and--I--was--almost--the
bride--of Hugh. It--is--droll--poor Hugh."

Margaret would have taken the proud dark head to her breast, but
Helen's voice came faintly, "J'y suis, j'y reste. Be very good to
Bryde, Margaret, ma belle, while he is with you--you bring him peace
and a great contentment and a so _great calm_." I wonder could she be
smiling. "When he come to me he will 'ave no great calm--no great
contentment--only--only--a great love."

So passed that proud spirit.

And her serving-man, John McCook, would be with her on the journey, for
his body was cold on the shore-head, and all the gameness out of it,
for a ganger's bullet found his heart, for all that Kate Dol Beag
thought she had it. But because John McCook was come of good folk, I
took the dagger from Dol Beag's hand in the darkness, and wiped it
clean, and put it back into the sheath, while folk were seeing to the
wound on Bryde's shoulder, for a bullet had passed through it, even as
Helen robbed Dol Beag of his vengeance.

And of the folk, only those who dressed Helen for her last journey knew
that her death was a dagger-wound, these and our own people.

The daylight was strong when we would be blowing out the lanterns, and
the _Gull_ was away to the westward of the Craig, and the Revenue boat
hard on her heels, but mak