“So much the worse for you; I'm rale weel liked by them that kens me. What would ye give for a passage to Nova Scotia?”
“It's a long way,” said I, beginning to see a little clearer.
“Ay,” said he, “but I've seen a gey lang rope too, and a man danglin' at the end of it.”
Again my face betrayed me. I made no answer.
“I ken all aboot it,” he went on. “Your name's Greig; ye're from a place called the Hazel Den at the other side o' the country; ye've been sailing wi' a stiff breeze on the quarter all night, and the clime o' auld Scotland's one that doesna suit your health, eh? What's the amount?” said he, and he looked towards my pocket “Could we no' mak' it halfers?”
“Five pounds,” said I, and at that he looked strangely dashed.
“Five pounds,” he repeated incredulously. “It seems to have been hardly worth the while.” And then his face changed, as if a new thought had struck him. He leaned over the table and whispered with the infernal tone of a confederate, “Doused his glim, eh?” winking with his hale eye, so that I could not but shiver at him, as at the touch of slime.
“I don't understand,” said I.
“Do ye no'?” said he, with a sneer; “for a Greig ye're mighty slow in the uptak'. The plain English o' that, then, is that ye've killed a man. A trifle like that ance happened to a Greig afore.”
“What's your name?” I demanded.