Again we leave them for a short time, but their crime is not forgotten. They are watched constantly. At last three of them were out at sea, the remaining four were traced to the Glen, and there were taken. Before they reached the vessel that was to convey them to England one escaped. Of course it was the daring Veale, who spurned law and order, and defied pursuit. Harris had been in Italy some time then, and had, therefore, no means of knowing what was going on. Veale fled to the rock, but he was not pursued again. Cathrin lost her merry, life-loving heart and pined in solitude. Veale used to light signal fires upon rocks to wreck vessels along the coast, and only when she saw him lighting his dark lantern, and preparing his flaming pine knots, could she be won from her silent mournfulness. Then she would talk hours in her thrilling childish way, and sing to him until her clear voice filled every part of the cavern, and woke the echoes among the gray old rocks; for she dreaded the idea of feeling that her very life was in the keeping of one who would so heedlessly destroy others. “You will not light the treacherous coys this fearful stormy eve?” she said, pleadingly. “O, I will sing you all the legends of my Welsh home, and all the songs Roland has taught me, if you will not go now.” Sometimes she would prevail, and he would sit by the heavy chest that served them for a table, and laugh at the brilliant fairy tales she wove from her memories of the dear old home in Wales. But Cathrin was dying. Day by day her strength was wasting itself away, her cheek grew paler and thinner, and now a hectic flush burned in lieu of her former health. Her eyes grew dull and expressionless, and, at last, she died, her last song just echoing its burden of victory, and her last glance fixed upon the blue sky and the gorgeous sunset. Veale mourned for her as deeply as it was in his power to mourn for any one, but he dared not bury her; he lived in constant fear that he, or rather the treasures there, would be molested; so he raised her in his strong arms and bore her to the inner room of the cave, then gently laid her on the shelving rocks, flung the soft folds of her India muslin over her pale face and staring black eyes, and went out from the cave alone, a sterner and more merciless man. All this time Wallace had been more or less interested in the pirates and their work. His noble black horse was often urged over the uneven road by Harris or himself; but now he took himself away and denied all further knowledge of the procedure. Veale’s provisions were exhausted. He dared not take the glittering golden coins to exchange for bread, so he obtained some cheap work, and determined, for the sake of occupying his mind, to earn his own food. How long he lived thus, we do not care to tell, but he gave up his business as wrecker, now that Wallace refused to assist him, and delivered him half the profits of their eight months treachery.