Another silence as a faint light filled the room and the winter dawn spread above the mountains; then he spoke:
“When I am dead—take my pouch,” he said through labored breaths. “It holds—Dundee’s spy-glass—I want ye to have it—for staying by me now—”
She cried out in a passionate pity.
“I would not have left a dog, Macdonald!”
“So cold,” he whispered. “The world is freezing into death—I see the mountains changing into snow and falling—I feel the earth dissolve into an icy sky and all my life ebb from me—so cold—hark!—the horses!”
Delia could hear them now.
“Why, there is hope,” she cried, “some help is here.”
Even while she uttered the words the entrance was darkened by the approaching horsemen. Now some one had slipped from the saddle and was standing on the threshold.
The dying man shuddered in Delia’s arms. “Margaret Campbell!” he murmured.
Lady Breadalbane turned sharply to him.