“Roderic in Gigha!” cried Kenric in alarm.  “Alas! and I thought him dead.  Who told you this thing?”

“A fisherman of Gigha,” said Allan.  “But I understood him ill.  Methinks we had better inquire of the maid Aasta the Fair, for the fisher spoke with her, and well I wot he told her all.”

“Doubtless,” said Kenric.  “And on the morrow I will even seek Aasta and learn from her if this be true.  It may be that there still is work for my sword to perform.  Well is it that I have not already fulfilled my intention of casting the brave weapon into the sea.”

CHAPTER XXIX.  ELSPETH BLACKFELL.

Early on the following morning, which was the last of the year, Elspeth Blackfell awoke to find herself alone in the cave.  Aasta was gone; even the wolf Lufa was no longer there, and the fire was dead out.  Elspeth with some difficulty kindled the hard dry peats, and went to put some water into the pot to make porridge.  The water in the well at the far end of the cave was turned to solid ice.  At the cave’s entrance there was a fringe of long icicles hanging like sword blades from the bare rock.  All was cold and desolate.  The black frost had penetrated everywhere, even, it seemed, to the old woman’s bones, for she moved slowly and bent for many minutes over the little fire vainly trying to bring warmth into her shrivelled limbs.

When at last she was able to put some broken ice into her pot, she went out into the chill open air, climbed the slippery bank, and stood upon the height looking abroad for Aasta.  She heard the tread of footsteps crunching upon the hard ground among the neighbouring trees; but the tread was strangely heavy.  It was not that of the light-footed maiden.

Elspeth returned into the cave and began to prepare her meal.  The sound of the footsteps continued to fall upon her ears; they came nearer.  She went to the entrance and drew aside the deerskin curtain.  She started back at sight of Roderic the Outlaw.

“You!” she cried, scowling.  “What devil’s work now brings you back to Bute? for evil it must surely be that tempts you hither.”

“Cease your croaking, Elspeth Blackfell,” said he, “and give me food.  This cold has crept into my very marrow.  Quick, give me food.”

Elspeth stood aside and allowed him to enter.  He went to the fire and snatched up a burning peat, moving it rapidly from hand to hand, and blowing it into a red glow with his misty breath.  Then when he had warmed himself, he took out his dirk and cut up some wood for the fire, making the flames rise high about the pot until the water began to simmer.

Elspeth, without speaking, brought him an oaten cake, which he ravenously devoured.  By the time that he had eaten it the water was boiling.  He thrust his strong red hand into the bag of oatmeal, and then proceeded to stir the porridge, while the old woman brought wooden bowls and a dish of goat’s milk.