Ragon said but one word, “Stabbed!” and then, turning to Hacon, bid him ride for life and death into Stromness for a doctor.  Most sailors of these islands know a little rude surgery, and Ragon stayed beside his friend, doing what he could to relieve the worst symptoms.  Margaret, white and still, went hither and thither, bringing whatever Ragon wanted, and fearing, she knew not why, to ask any questions.

With the doctor came the dominie and two of the town bailies.  There was little need of the doctor; Peter Fae’s life was ebbing rapidly away with every moment of time.  There was but little time now for whatever had yet to be done.  The dominie stooped first to his ear, and in a few solemn words bid him lay himself at the foot of the cross.  “Thou’lt never perish there, Peter,” he said; and the dying man seemed to catch something of the comfort of such an assurance.

Then Bailie Inkster said, “Peter Fae, before God an’ his minister—­before twa o’ the town bailies an’ thy ain daughter Margaret, an’ thy friend Ragon Torr, an’ thy servants Hacon Flett an’ Gerda Vedder, thou art now to say what man stabbed thee.”

Peter made one desperate effort, a wild, passionate gleam shot from the suddenly-opened eyes, and he cried out in a voice terrible in its despairing anger, “John Sabay!  John Sabay—­stabb-ed—­me!  Indeed—­he—­did!”

“Oh, forgive him, man! forgive him!  Dinna think o’ that now, Peter!  Cling to the cross—­cling to the cross, man!  Nane ever perished that only won to the foot o’ it.”  Then the pleading words were whispered down into fast-sealing ears, and the doctor quietly led away a poor heart-stricken girl, who was too shocked to weep and too humbled and wretched to tell her sorrow to any one but God.

CHAPTER IV.

The bailies, after hearing the deposition, immediately repaired to John Sabay’s cottage.  It was Saturday night, and no warrant could now be got, but the murderer must be secured.  No two men bent on such an errand ever found it more difficult to execute.  The little family had sat later than usual.  John had always news they were eager to hear—­of tourists and strangers he had seen in Wick, or of the people the steamer had brought to Kirkwall.

He was particularly cheerful this evening; his interview with Margaret had been hopeful and pleasant, and Christine had given the houseplace and the humble supper-table quite a festival look.  They had sat so long over the meal that when the bailies entered John was only then reading the regular portion for the evening exercise.  All were a little amazed at the visit, but no one thought for a moment of interrupting the Scripture; and the two men sat down and listened attentively while John finished the chapter.

Bailie Tulloch then rose and went towards the dame.  He was a far-off cousin of the Sabays, and, though not on the best of terms with them, his relationship was considered to impose the duty particularly on him.