“Fair, lad; fair,” said the officer, laughing in spite of himself.  “Ah!  Ruby Brand, you are jealous of him!  Well, I see that I’m fated not to capture you, so I’ll bid you good day.  Meanwhile your companions will be so good as to step into my gig.”

The two men rose to obey.  Big Swankie stepped over the gunwale, with the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits to it.  Davy Spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look.  He was about to follow, when a thought seemed to strike him.  He turned hastily round, and Ruby was surprised to see that his eyes were suffused with tears, and that his features worked with the convulsive twitching of one who struggles powerfully to restrain his feelings.

“Ruby Brand,” said he, in a deep husky voice, which trembled at first, but became strong as he went on; “Ruby Brand, I deserve nae good at your hands, yet I’ll ask a favour o’ ye.  Ye’ve seen the wife and the bairn, the wee ane wi’ the fair curly pow.  Ye ken the auld hoose.  It’ll be mony a lang day afore I see them again, if iver I come back ava.  There’s naebody left to care for them.  They’ll be starvin’ soon, lad.  Wull ye—­wull ye look—­doon?”

Poor Davy Spink stopped here, and covered his face with his big sunburnt hands.

A sudden gush of sympathy filled Ruby’s heart.  He started forward, and drawing from his pocket the letter with which he was charged, thrust it into Spink’s hand, and said hurriedly—­

“Don’t fail to deliver it the first thing you do on landing.  And hark’ee, Spink, go to Mrs. Brand’s cottage, and tell them there why I went away.  Be sure you see them all, and explain why it was.  Tell Minnie Gray that I will be certain to return, if God spares me.”

Without waiting for a reply he sprang into the gig, and gave the other boat a shove, that sent it several yards off.

“Give way, lads,” cried the officer, who was delighted at this unexpected change in affairs, though he had only heard enough of the conversation to confuse him as to the cause of it.

“Stop! stop!” shouted Spink, tossing up his arms.

“I’d rather not,” returned the officer.

Davy seized the oars, and, turning his boat in the direction of the gig, endeavoured to overtake it, As well might the, turkey-buzzard attempt to catch the swallow.  He was left far behind, and when last seen faintly through the fog, he was standing up in the stern of the boat wringing his hands.

Ruby had seated himself in the bow of the gig, with his face turned steadily towards the sea, so that no one could see it.  This position he maintained in silence until the boat ranged up to what appeared like the side of a great mountain, looming through the mist.

Then he turned round, and, whatever might have been the struggle within his breast, all traces of it had left his countenance, which presented its wonted appearance of good-humoured frankness.