“Good bye--Lucille,” whispered, rather than spoke, Sir George.
“Good bye, my lord,” came falteringly from Lucille’s lips, and she burst into tears, with her head on my shoulder. I led her away.
When I turned to look at him I saw that the end was come. He had turned over on his face, and his head was resting on his folded arms, while a choking sob shook his body. He was weeping in death, this man who had dared so much for love, and lost.
Simon, who had knelt down by his master, leaned over him. He appeared to be listening. Then he arose, raised his hands to heaven and gave a great cry.
Thus died Sir George Keith, a brave man, a bold man, and--well, he is dead. May he rest in peace.
And we covered him up with the sand, Simon and I; with the sand whereon he had fought his last fight.
I was anxious, now, to be away from the place, and to get Lucille to some shelter. We lighted a fire, and roasted some of the bacon, making a scanty meal, and, ere the sun was mid-day high, we were ready to start.
“Come,” I said, cheerfully, “our path lies before us, and if we hasten we may reach Elizabeth town by night.”
“Any place away from this,” sighed Lucille. “I shall have unpleasant memories of it for many a day.”
We managed to scramble to the top of the cliff, and found the place where Kit was tethered. The mare was most glad to see me, and whinnied with delight, as I rubbed her nose. My saddle made a poor shift for Lucille, but I padded it with my coat, making the best seat I could. Then, with a last look at the beach, whereon so much had passed, I called to Kit, Simon and I stepped out, and we laid our course to the southwest.