Flora’s face was as white as the pallid figure on the cross above the chimney.

“You are a coward!—­and a beast!” she cried from dry lips.  “If you kill him my curse shall be with you until your dying day—­and afterwards—­forever.”

“Then ye can tell him to go away, an’ I won’t be killin’ him,” said the man.

“Tell him—­to go—­away?”

“Aye—­that ye’ve no need o’ him.  Send him away.  Tell him ye means to marry wid me.”

“No,” whispered the girl.  And then, “Do you mean to—­give him a chance?—­to fight him fair?”

“Aye, man to man—­an’ as sure as the divil fetched him to Chance Along I’ll kill him wid these hands!  An’ then—­an’ then ye’ll be mine—­an’ when Father McQueen comes in June ’twill be time for the weddin’—­for that part o’ it.  Ye’ve put the names o’ coward an’ beast on to me—­an’ by Saint Peter, ye’ll live to change them names or to know them!”

Some color came back to Flora’s cheeks and her clear eyes shone to their depths.

“If you fight fair,” she said, faintly but steadily, “he will give you what you deserve.  I am not afraid.  God will be with him—­and he is the better man!”

The skipper laughed, then stooped suddenly, caught her in his arms and kissed her on the lips.  Next moment he flung her aside and dashed from the room, almost overturning Mother Nolan in his flight.  At the door of the kitchen he came face to face with Mary Kavanagh.  He tried to pass her without pausing, but she stood firm on the threshold and held him for a moment or two with her strong arms.  Her gray eyes were blazing.

“I sees the Black One a-ridin’ on yer back!” she cried, in a voice of horror and disgust.  “I sees his face over yer shoulder—­aye, an’ his arm around yer neck like a rope!”

He looked at her for a moment, and then quickly away as he forced her violently aside.

“An’ the hell-fire in yer eyes!” she cried.

The skipper was free of her by then and out of the house; but he turned and stared at her with a haggard face and swiftly dulling eyes.

“The curse bes on me!” he whispered.  “It bes in me vitals now—­like I had kilt him already.”

The expression of the girl’s face changed in a flash and she sprang out and caught one of his hands in both of hers.

“Kill him?  Ye bain’t meanin’ to kill him, Denny Nolan?” she whispered.

“Aye, but I bes, curse or no curse,” he said, dully.  “To-morrow mornin’ I bes a-goin’ to kill him—­man to man, in fair fight.”

“But for why, Denny?”

“For the girl.”

“Bes ye lovin’ her so desperate, Denny?”

“Nay, nay, lass, not now.  But I wants her!  An’ she puts the name o’ beast on to me an’ the nature o’ beast into me, like a curse!”

“To-morrow?  An’ ye’ll fight him fair, Denny?”

“Aye, to-morrow—­man to man—­wid empty hands!”

The girl turned and entered the house, and the skipper went up the path at the back of the harbor and wandered over the snowy barrens for hours.  It was dusk when Bill Brennen found him.