The keeper, who cherished a warm feeling for old Mr Gordon, and admired him greatly, expressed decided approval of the young man’s sentiments, as was obvious from the pleased smile on his usually grave countenance, though his lips only gave utterance to the expression, “Fery true, sir; you are not far wrong.”
At the Eagle Pass they halted a few minutes to breathe the horses. Eddie and Junkie, of course, jumped down, followed by James McGregor, with whom they had already formed a friendship.
“Come away, an’ we’ll show you the place where Milly fell down. Come along, quicker, Shames,” cried Junkie, adopting the name that the skipper used; for the boy’s love of pleasantry not infrequently betrayed him into impudence.
With a short laugh, Mabberly turned to Ivor, and asked if Shames was the Gaelic for James.
“No, sir” replied the keeper; “but James is the English for Shames.”
“Ha! you are quoting now—or rather, misquoting—from the lips of some Irishman.”
“Weel, sir, I never heard it said that quota-ashun wass a sin,” retorted Ivor; then, turning to the stupendous cliff that frowned above them, “Hev ye heard of the prophecy, sir, aboot this cliff?”
“No. What is it?”
“It’s said that the cliff is to be the scene of a ghost story, a love story, and a murder all at the same time.”
“Is that all, Ivor? Did the prophet give no indication how the stories were to end, or who the murderer is to be, or the murdered one?”