with a flush of angry daring
in her face, "perhaps I could bring a similar charge against you, with
some better show of reason."

"That I was ever selfish or cruel as regards you!" said he, with a vague
wonder, as if he had not heard aright.

"Shall I tell you, then," said she, "as you seem bent on recriminations?
Perhaps you thought I did not understand?--that I was too frightened to
understand? Oh, I knew very well!"

"I don't know what you mean!" said he, in absolute bewilderment.

"What!--not the night we were caught in the storm in crossing to
Iona?--and when I clung to your arm, you shook me off, so that you
should be free to strike for yourself if we were thrown into the water?
Oh, I don't blame you! It was only natural. But I think you should be
cautious in accusing others of selfishness."

For a moment he stood looking at her, with something like fear in his
eyes--fear and horror, and a doubt as to whether this thing was
possible; and then came the hopeless cry of a breaking heart,--

"Oh God, Gerty! I thought you loved me--and you believed _that!"_

CHAPTER XL.

DREAMS.

This long and terrible night: will it never end? Or will not life itself
go out, and let the sufferer have rest? The slow and sleepless hours
toil through the darkness; and there is a ticking of a clock in the
hushed room; and this agony of pain still throbbing and throbbing in the
breaking heart. And then, as the pale dawn shows gray in the windows,
the anguish of despair follows him even into the wan realms of sleep,
and there are wild visions rising before the sick brain. Strange visions
they are; the confused and seething phantasmagoria of a shattered life;
himself regarding himself as another figure, and beginning to pity this
poor wretch who is not permitted to die. "Poor wretch--poor wretch!" he
says to himself. "Did they use to call you Macleod; and what is it that
has brought you to this?"

* * * * *

See now! He lays his head down on the warm heather, on this beautiful
summer day, and the seas are all blue around him; and the sun is shining
on the white sands of Iona. Far below, the men are singing "_Fhir a
bhata_," and the sea birds are softly calling. But suddenly there is a
horror in his brain, and the day grows black, for an adder has stung
him!--it is _Righinn_--the Princess--the Queen of Snakes. Oh why does
she laugh, and look at him so with that clear, cruel look? He would
r