“And what about Argile?” said I, when the humming ceased.
“You are very keen on that bit, lad,” said the baron-bailie, smiling spitefully with thin hard lips that revealed his teeth gleaming white and square against the dusk of his face. “You are very keen on that bit; you might be waiting for the rest of the minister’s story.”
“Oh,” I said, “I did not think there was any more of the minister’s tale to come. I crave his pardon.”
“I think, too, I have not much more of a story to tell,” said the minister, stiffly.
“And I think,” said M’Iver, in a sudden hurry to be off, “that we might be moving from here. The head of the loch is the only way for us if we are to be off this unwholesome countryside by the mouth of the night.”
It is likely we would have taken him at his word, and have risen and gone on his way to the east, where the narrowing of the loch showed that it was close on its conclusion; but the Stewart took from his knapsack some viands that gave a frantic edge to our appetite and compelled us to stay and eat.
The day was drawing to its close, the sun, falling behind us, was pillowed on clouds of a rich crimson. For the first time, we noticed the signs of the relaxation of the austere season in the return of bird and beast to their familiar haunts. As the sun dipped the birds came out to the brae-side to catch his last ray, as they ever love to do. Whaups rose off the sand, and, following the gleam upon the braes, ascended from slope to slope, and the plover followed too, dipping his feet in the golden tide receding. On little fir-patches mounted numerous blackcock of sheeny feather, and the owls began to hoot in the wood beyond.
CHAPTER XXII.—DAME DUBH.
We had eaten to the last crumb, and were ready to be going, when again I asked Gordon what had come over Argile.