“Every rank and class had wherewithal to supply its own requirements,” answered Daly, proudly, “and the menial had more time to indulge affection for his master, when removed from the temptation to rival him. That strong bond of attachment has all but disappeared from amongst us.” As he spoke, he turned in his saddle and called out, “Can we cross the sands now, or is the tide making, Sandy?”
“It's no just making yet,” said the servant, cautiously; “but when the breakers are so heavy off the Point, it's aye safer to keep the road.”
“The road be it, then,” muttered Daly to himself; “men never are so chary of life as when about to risk it.”
The observation, although not intended, reached Forester's ears, and he smiled and said, “Naturally enough, perhaps we ought not to be too exacting with fortune.”
Daly turned suddenly round, and, after a brief pause, asked, “What skill have you with the pistol?”
“When the mark is a shilling I can hit it, three times out of four, at twenty paces; but I never fired at a man.”
“That does make a difference,” said Daly, musingly; “nothing short of an arrant coward could look calmly on a fellow-creature while he pointed a loaded pistol at his heart. A brave man will always have self-possession enough to feel the misery of his position. Had the feat been one of vengeance, and not of love, Tell had never hit the apple, sir. But there,—is not that a fire yonder?”
“Yes, I see a red glare through the mist.”
“There's a fire on Cluan Point,” said Sandy, riding up to his master's side; “I trow it's a signal.”
“Ah! meant to quicken us, perhaps; some fear of being surprised,” said Daly, hastily; “let us move on faster.” And they spurred their horses to a sharp trot as they descended the gentle slope, which, projecting far out to sea, formed the promontory of Cluan.