The lad, held tightly by the breast and throat, and gripping the arms that held him with fingers that clung like claws, took one horrified glance down into the darkness. He struggled no longer. His face was very pitiful to see.
"I can not promise," he said, in a voice like a cry.
At that answer Dan drew Davy back from the cliff edge, and loosed his hold of him. He was abashed and ashamed. He felt himself a little man by the side of this half-daft fisher-lad.
All this time Ewan had stood aside looking on while Dan demanded the promise, and saying nothing. Now he went up to Davy, and said, in a quiet voice:
"Davy, if you should ever tell any one what you have seen, Dan will be a lost man all his life hereafter."
"Then let him pitch me over the cliff," said Davy, in a smothered cry.
"Listen to me, Davy," Ewan went on; "you're a brave lad, and I know what's in your head, but—"
"Then what for do you want to fight him?" Davy broke out. The lad's throat was dry and husky, and his eyes were growing dim.
Ewan paused. Half his passion was spent. Davy's poor dense head had found him a question that he could not answer.
"Davy, if you don't promise, you will ruin Dan—yes, it will be you who will ruin him, you, remember that. He will be a lost man, and my sister, my good sister Mona, she will be a broken-hearted woman."