“Be not discouraged, laddie,” she said; “’tis always darkest before dawn, an’ who kens what may yet happen?”
“Ah, nae, nae,” he interrupted with a despairing shake of his head, “e’en the elements conspire against me, for I maun face this coming storm on foot to reach Greenock. ’Tis all a part of my just punishment.” The wind had risen and with it a driving mist which soon enveloped them in its damp embrace. But they heeded it not.
“Bide a wee, dinna go to-night,” she pleaded, while the wind tossed her tangled curls seductively around his neck and in his sorrowing face. “Listen to the wind. Oh,’tis a bad night to start on a journey,” and she clung to him tighter, her skirts flapping about his limbs like some live thing, thrilling him by their touch.
“Before ye came out, lassie,” he replied quietly, stilling the tumult in his heart, “I wrote some verses in this book as a parting song; how appropriate they are for this occasion ye will see. Listen,” and holding the book up to the light he began to read:
“The gloomy night is gathering fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o’er the plain;
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,