"'GIVE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN'"
I could see it all clearly: that scoundrel, Allan Knock, set on by Creach, had been on our track ever since we left Skye, and knowing of our return from the ship through his spies, had thought to have taken me, or both of us, at Crowlin; the rest was plain from Neil's story, and it was only through the mistake of the English captain that my father had closed his eyes in my arms.
By the goodness of God, when I knelt beside the man so dear to me, I found him still alive, though wounded so that at the first sight, I saw even to raise him meant a quicker death.
The moment I spoke he opened his eyes. "Ah, Giovannini, my son," he said, in a voice surprisingly strong, "it was a grand fight!" And then, after a moment, "It was a pretty fight until they put an end to it with their shooting. But, poor creatures, I drove them to it. They couldn't get in at me in any other way."
"Oh, Father," I cried, "why didn't you tell them who you were?"
"I've been borrowing names all along," he said, drowsily; "tell Lynch I kept his. I didn't make a bad use of yours either," he said, very slowly, and seemed to doze.
We raised his head more and covered him with the plaids.
In a little while he woke up quite clear. "Giovannini, lad, what of things at home?"
I told him, and he muttered a short prayer to himself, and then went on: "I am thankful I have neither kith nor kin, and not a soul to give a thought to my going to-night save yourself. But that is much—is dear to me. What claim has a wandering priest save on his God, and your being with me is the excess of His goodness.