at least left for his comfort; the rain, besides, had cleared away,

and the night promised to be even warm. We might compose
ourselves, we thought, until the morrow; rest was the chief

requisite, that we might be strengthened for unusual exertions; and
as none cared to talk, we separated at an early hour.

I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the morrow. I was to
place the black on the side of Sandag, whence he should head my

uncle towards the house; Rorie in the west, I on the east, were to
complete the cordon, as best we might. It seemed to me, the more I

recalled the configuration of the island, that it should be
possible, though hard, to force him down upon the low ground along

Aros Bay; and once there, even with the strength of his madness,
ultimate escape was hardly to be feared. It was on his terror of

the black that I relied; for I made sure, however he might run, it
would not be in the direction of the man whom he supposed to have

returned from the dead, and thus one point of the compass at least
would be secure.

When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened shortly after
by a dream of wrecks, black men, and submarine adventure; and I

found myself so shaken and fevered that I arose, descended the
stair, and stepped out before the house. Within, Rorie and the

black were asleep together in the kitchen; outside was a wonderful
clear night of stars, with here and there a cloud still hanging,

last stragglers of the tempest. It was near the top of the flood,
and the Merry Men were roaring in the windless quiet of the night.

Never, not even in the height of the tempest, had I heard their
song with greater awe. Now, when the winds were gathered home,

when the deep was dandling itself back into its summer slumber, and
when the stars rained their gentle light over land and sea, the

voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc. They
seemed, indeed, to be a part of the world's evil and the tragic

side of life. Nor were their meaningless vociferations the only
sounds that broke the silence of the night. For I could hear, now

shrill and thrilling and now almost drowned, the note of a human
voice that accompanied the uproar of the Roost. I knew it for my

kinsman's; and a great fear fell upon me of God's judgments, and
the evil in the world. I went back again into the darkness of the

house as into a place of shelter, and lay long upon my bed,
pondering these mysteries.

It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my clothes and
hurried to the kitchen. No one was there; Rorie and the black had

both stealthilydeparted long before; and my heart stood still at
the discovery. I could rely on Rorie's heart, but I placed no

trust in his discretion. If he had thus set out without a word, he
was plainly bent upon some service to my uncle. But what service

could he hope to render even alone, far less in the company of the
man in whom my uncle found his fears incarnated? Even if I were

not already too late to prevent some deadlymischief, it was plain
I must delay no longer. With the thought I was out of the house;

and often as I have run on the rough sides of Aros, I never ran as
I did that fatal morning. I do not believe I put twelve minutes to

the whole ascent.
My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had indeed been torn

open and the meat scattered on the turf; but, as we found
afterwards, no mouthful had been tasted; and there was not another

trace of human existence in that wide field of view. Day had
already filled the clear heavens; the sun already lighted in a rosy

bloom upon the crest of Ben Kyaw; but all below me the rude knolls
of Aros and the shield of sea lay steeped in the clear darkling

twilight of the dawn.
'Rorie!' I cried; and again 'Rorie!' My voice died in the silence,

but there came no answer back. If there were indeed an enterprise
afoot to catch my uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot,

but in dexterity of stalking, that the hunters placed their trust.
I ran on farther, keeping the higher spurs, and looking right and

left, nor did I pause again till I was on the mount above Sandag.
I could see the wreck, the uncovered belt of sand, the waves idly

beating, the long ledge of rocks, and on either hand the tumbled
knolls, boulders, and gullies of the island. But still no human

thing.
At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the shadows and colours

leaped into being. Not half a moment later, below me to the west,
sheep began to scatter as in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my

uncle running. I saw the black jump up in hot pursuit; and before
I had time to understand, Rorie also had appeared, calling

directions in Gaelic as to a dog herding sheep.
I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had done better to

have waited where I was, for I was the means of cutting off the
madman's last escape. There was nothing before him from that

moment but the grave, the wreck, and the sea in Sandag Bay. And
yet Heaven knows that what I did was for the best.

My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to him, the chase
was driving him. He doubled, darting to the right and left; but

high as the fever ran in his veins, the black was still the
swifter. Turn where he would, he was still forestalled, still

driven toward the scene of his crime. Suddenly he began to shriek
aloud, so that the coast re-echoed; and now both I and Rorie were

calling on the black to stop. But all was vain, for it was written
otherwise. The pursuer still ran, the chase still sped before him

screaming; they avoided the grave, and skimmed close past the
timbers of the wreck; in a breath they had cleared the sand; and

still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed straight into the surf;
and the black, now almost within reach, still followed swiftly

behind him. Rorie and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond
the hands of men, and these were the decrees of God that came to

pass before our eyes. There was never a sharper ending. On that
steep beach they were beyond their depth at a bound; neither could

swim; the black rose once for a moment with a throttling cry; but
the current had them, racing seaward; and if ever they came up

again, which God alone can tell, it would be ten minutes after, at
the far end of Aros Roost, where the seabirds hover fishing.

WILL O' THE MILL.
CHAPTER I. THE PLAIN AND THE STARS.

THE Mill here Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a
falling valley between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill

after hill, soared upwards until they soared out of the depth of
the hardiest timber, and stood naked against the sky. Some way up,

a long grey village lay like a seam or a ray of vapour on a wooded
hillside; and when the wind was favourable, the sound of the church

bells would drop down, thin and silvery, to Will. Below, the
valley grew ever steeper and steeper, and at the same time widened

out on either hand; and from an eminence beside the mill it was
possible to see its whole length and away beyond it over a wide

plain, where the river turned and shone, and moved on from city to
city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced that over this

valley there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so that, quiet
and rural as it was, the road that ran along beside the river was a

high thoroughfare between two splendid and powerful societies. All
through the summer, travelling-carriages came crawling up, or went

plunging brisklydownwards" target="_blank" title="ad.向下，以下">downwards past the mill; and as it happened that
the other side was very much easier of ascent, the path was not

much frequented, except by people going in one direction; and of
all the carriages that Will saw go by, five-sixths were plunging

brisklydownwards" target="_blank" title="ad.向下，以下">downwards and only one-sixth crawling up. Much more was