“Hush, my good man; you are talking too much.”

“You doctors are all tyrants.  I will speak, for I may not be able again.  Reach me that writing-case.  Yes.  Open it and take out the things.  The Bible—­her own Bible—­is for the mater, with my love.  My meerschaum is for Jack Dunn; and please tell them both that you looked after me—­you ‘had an eye to Henry.’”

This with a smile.  Then, as Malcolm took a photograph out of the case—­“Ah, you did not know I had it?  Emmie gave it me that time when she—­well, well, they put a pressure upon her, and I had nothing to marry on—­a pauper, eh?”

“She liked you the best of us two, Henry.”

“Ay, but she did not like me well enough.  I dreamt of her yesterday, and I quite forgive her.  If you care to keep that photo., you can, and the case, and gold pen and studs.”

“Now, my chap, you just drink this, and hold your tongue.  Please God, you and I will both see Gartan parish again; and you may tell mother and Jack that I stood by you and looked after you, if you please.  You’re mad angry with me this minute; but I’m shutting you up for your good.”

* * * * *

A time came, through the mercy of God, when the widow received her son back again, with the friend who was now almost as dear to her, and when tar barrels blazed on every hill around Gartan Lough.

Jack polished the boots that had travelled so far, the while tales of adventure delighted his ear.

Henry talked the most, his quiet friend hearing him with pleasure.  Surgeon McGregor never realised that he was a hero; yet his deeds were bruited abroad and became the talk of all that countryside.