Not long was Kenric in covering the few miles between Loch Ascog and Garroch Head.  He feared to be too late, for it was already but one short hour before midnight.  But his limbs were cold, and he had therefore a double reason for running.  Soon, instead of being too cold he became over-hot; his heavy sheepskin cloak oppressed him, and he threw it off, leaving it lying upon the ground.  Thus relieved, he slung his sword under his arm and ran on and on past the silent farmsteads, over hard ploughed fields and bare moorland, past the desolate Circle of Penance, and past the little chapel of St. Blane’s, where many islanders were already gathered to join in the New Year service.  Then for another short mile beyond the abbey he hastened, until from the rising ground he came in sight of the murmuring, moonlit sea.

Now he slackened his pace to a brisk walk, and skirting the line of cliffs he presently came upon the rocky headland of Garroch.

His whole body was in a warm glow; his breath came regular and strong from the depths of his broad chest.  He felt himself better fitted for battle, more powerful of limb than he had ever done before, and never had he entered into combat with a fuller sense of the justice of the approaching encounter.

He looked about the bald headland to left and right, but Roderic was not yet to be seen.  Kenric’s heart sank within him in anxious disappointment.  But as he approached the extreme angle of the cape, he saw a tall cloaked figure appear from behind the shelter of a dark rock.

Roderic came slowly towards him, blowing his warm breath into his cold, crisped fists.  Kenric’s face was in shadow, and the outlaw did not recognize him.

“So,” said Roderic, “Elspeth Blackfell has not this time deceived me, eh?  ’Twas she who sent you here, young man?”

“It was,” Kenric replied.

“And how happens it that she sent not the maid Aasta?”

“’Twas beyond her power, Earl Roderic,” answered Kenric in a quivering voice.

“What?” cried Roderic surlily, “beyond her power?  Tell me no lies.  The old crone is but playing some witch’s trick upon me.  Where is my daughter, I say? where is my child?”

“Aasta the Fair, Heaven rest her soul! now sleeps beneath the cold ice of Ascog Loch,” said Kenric solemnly; “she is dead.”

A sudden hoarse cry from Roderic followed these words.

“Dead?” he echoed, “dead, you say, and under the ice of the loch?”

“Even so,” replied the youth, keeping his eye fixed upon Roderic’s movements. “’Tis but a little time since that I saw her lying in the frozen waters.”

Roderic staggered back a pace, wildly.  He tugged at the neck of his cloak as though it were stifling him.

“Ah, God forgive me!” he wailed.  “Alas, ’twas she —­ ’twas then my own child who so wildly attacked me yesternight!  ’Twas my own Aasta who so boldly fought against me at Largs.  ’Twas she whom I took captive in my ship from Rothesay.  And ’twas she also who cursed me over at Barone —­ ay, cursed her own father!  Great God, the curse has come true!  For my own two children have been slain before my eyes —­ first Lulach, then herself —­ and I their father slew them both!”