"And why not to-day?" thundered Black Evan, with a terrible oath.
"Can you ask?"
"What day is it in particular?"
"The Eve of Yule."
"Would you refuse to fight the enemy on Yule Eve?" asked the captain, scornfully.
"No, Ballychroan," replied the sergeant, proudly; "for on that day in the year '76 I fought with the Americans on the Delaware."
"And what is Yule to me?" exclaimed the captain, as he drank a deep draught "Ha! ha! what is that to me? Go I shall, though the fiend—the accursed fiend—came up from hell with all his legions to bar the way. Go I shall, Hamish; and go I must?"
"This is most strange!"
"Fatality compels me," said the captain, mournfully and wildly. "Oh, how few could comprehend the misery of a conviction like this! Fain would I give up existence if I could receive oblivion in exchange, but not life—this life at least. Fain would I rest in my grave, Hamish; but in the grave, even of a saint—yea, under the altar-stone of Iona—I could not find repose."
"I do not understand all this," said the old sergeant, solemnly; "so let us consult the minister about it."