The great forester gazed straight before him at the wall, but made no reply.
“What is the matter, Shon?” said Max uneasily.
Long Shon took a pinch of snuff, and gazed at the floor.
“Look here!” cried Max earnestly; “I wanted to thank you all for your kindness to me since I have been here, and I may not have another chance. Donald, Long Shon, Tavish—just a little remembrance, and thank you.”
As he spoke, he slipped a sovereign into the hands of the two first named, and two into that of the forester. But, as if moved by the same idea, all three dashed the money at his feet, the gold coins jingling upon the stone floor.
Max’s eyes dilated, and he gazed from one to the other.
“I am very sorry,” he said, after a painful pause. “Good-bye. It is not my fault.”
He went slowly out, and before he had gone half a dozen yards the money struck him on the back, and Long Shon cried hoarsely,—
“Tonal’ sends ye his curse for blasting ta home o’ ta Mackhais!”
Once more the coins fell jingling down, and, flinching away, shrinking with shame, sorrow, and indignation, Max returned into the house, feeling that he could not go boating now, and wishing that the next day had come, and he were on the road back to London.