And in spite of himself tears rose quickly to his eyes; for she seemed so far away from him, even as he held her hand; and his heart would speak at last—­or break.

“It was all the winter months I was saying to myself, ’Now you will not vex her with too much pleading, for she has much trouble with her work; and that is enough; and a man can bear his own trouble.’  And once or twice, when we have been caught in a bad sea, I said to myself, ’And what matter now if the end comes?—­for perhaps that would only release her.’  But then again, Gerty, I thought of the time you gave me the red rose; and I said, ’Surely her heart will not go away from me; and I have plenty to live for yet!’”

Then she looked him frankly in the face, with those beautiful, clear, sad eyes.

“You deserve all the love a woman can give you, Keith; for you have a man’s heart.  And I wish I could make you a fair return for all your courage, and gentleness, and kindness—­”

“Ah, do not say that,” he said, quickly.  “Do not think I am complaining of you, Gerty.  It is enough—­it is enough—­I thank God for his mercy to me; for there never was any man so glad as I was when you gave me the red rose.  And now, sweetheart—­now you will tell me that I will put away all this trouble and have no more fears; and there will be no need to think of what you are doing far away; and there will be one day that all the people will know—­and there will be laughing and gladness that day; and if we will keep the pipes away from you, all the people about will have the pipes, and there will be a dance and a song that day.  Ah, Gerty, you must not think harshly of the people about here.  They have their ways.  They would like to please you.  But my heart is with them; and a marriage-day would be no marriage-day to me that I did not spend among my own people—­my own people.”

He was talking quite wildly.  She had seen him in this mood once or twice before, and she was afraid.

“But you know, Keith,” said she, gently, and with averted eyes, “a great deal has to be done before then.  And a woman is not so impulsive as a man; and you must not be angry if I beg for a little time—­”

“And what is time?” said he, in the same glad and wild way—­and now it was his hand holding hers that was trembling.  “It will all go by in a moment—­like a dream—­when we know that the one splendid day is coming.  And I will send a haunch to the Dubh Artach men that morning; and I will send a haunch to Skerryvore; and there will not be a man in Iona, or Coll, or Mull, that will not have his dram that day.  And what will you do, Gerty—­what will you do?  Oh, I will tell you now what you will do on that morning.  You will take out some sheets of the beautiful, small, scented paper; and you will write to this theatre and to that theatre:  ’Good-by—­perhaps you were useful to me once, and I bear you no ill-will:  but—­Good-by forever and ever!’ And I will have all the children that I took to the Crystal Palace last summer given a fine dinner; and the six boy-pipers will play Mrs. Macleod of Raasay again; and they will have a fine reel once more.  There will be many a one know that you are married that day, Gerty.  And when is the day to be, Gerty?  Cannot you tell me now?”