The room was altered, but the chest was there; and though my men’s claes had gone, some of my boy’s claes were there; an’ even some of them that I wore as a child, when Aunt Tibbie made me a new suit. I was thocht to be dead, then, but wasna’ forgotten.
If a mon can cry, it does him a world o’ good at times—that is, if he doesna’ cry much nor often. I cried, and it did me good. Then I went up to the little bit o’ broken glass that was nailed to the wa’ to speer what like I was. My hair had began to whiten—bleached, maybe, by the sea air. I had a strange, wild look, for hair and beard had grown all tangled, and my face was grey instead of red-brown, as it once was. Would my uncle know me?
When I went down again to eat some more bread, and to look for a little whisky to put wi’ the milk, there was a man’s face peerin’ through the window; and before I could stir, the door-latch clicked, and in walked my uncle Ivan. I had started to my feet, and my uncle strode in, with his hand uplifted, as if to strike me.
I never stirred, but looked at him full in the eyes.
His hand fell to his side.
“What brings ye here frae the dead, or from waur than the dead, Sandy Macpherson?” he exclaimed, hoarsely.
“I’ve no been that far; if they that I’d have looked for had looked for me,” I answered. “If Rory Smith is alive, he can tell ye about it; or if his dead body’s been found, I’ll tell my story over that afore all Slievochan.”
“Then it was you, after all?” said my uncle, sinking into a seat, and leaning his head on his hands. “An’ I’ve stood up for ye, and swore that if there was foul play ’twas he, and not you—or maybe Preece, as your aunt thocht at first, because he had the necklace. Can ye, an’ will ye, clear up this dreadfu’ mystery?”
“Uncle Ivan,” I said, takin’ him by both hands; “look at my face and hair; look close at my claes and shoon! Come wi’ me, and bring others too, to the cliff face below the sitting-stone in the turn o’ the path—and then it’s just possible, but it’s no likely, ye’ll believe what I have to tell. First, let me say to ye, I’m innocent o’ any crime. Do ye believe that?”
My uncle lookit at me long and hard, and I grippit his hands tight.