"Good-night," said Helen, and gave him her hand—it was very cold. "Good-night," and then with a half sob, "Jus' won kiss," she whispered . . . I am often wondering. . . .
* * * * * *
I would be with Belle when Bryde came among the dancers again. Her eyes were yearning over him.
"I am wishing I had you home—you will be too happy, my wild boy."
"There are none to be wishing evil this night," said Bryde, and laughed down at his mother; and then, "There is no lass so bonny as my mother, Hamish," and he put his arm round her. "I will be behaving, little mother," said he, and then Dan came to us and took Belle away.
* * * * * *
It made high-water at five in the morning, and there was the last of a moon showing the darkness on the shore and throwing a gleam on the sea.
There were folk moving on the beach, all silently except maybe you would be hearing a sech of a breath, as when a man will be stretching himself after resting from a load. There would come now and then the howling of a dog, an eerie sound, and then he would be at the barking a long way through the night. Sometimes a little horse would come out of the darkness with a pack-load on his back, and men would be lifting the load and laying it on the beach, and there would be quiet whispering, and the little horse be led away and swallowed up in the dark among the scrog and bushes. And in a while there came the soft noise of muffled oars, a sound very faint that will be stirring the blood of a man, and a little knot of folk gathered round the barrels on the beach.
"That will be the boats now," said Dan McBride.
"It will be all quiet," said Ronald McKinnon, "and Gilchrist will not be having his new hoose yet for a wee."