"Harrigan," said the big Scotchman solemnly, "it is you she means. See! She cried over the paper while she was writing. No woman could weep for Black McTee!" "And no woman could write like that to Harrigan. Angus, you can keep the knowledge that she loves you, but let me keep the letter. Ah-h, McTee, I'll be afther keepin' it forninst me heart!" "Let's go outside," said McTee. "There is no air in this room." They went out into the black night, and as they walked, each kept his hand upon the letter, so that it seemed to be a power which tied them together. "Angus," said Harrigan after a time, "we'll be fightin' for the letter soon. Why should we? I know every line of it by heart." "I know every word," answered McTee. "I've a thought," said Harrigan. "In the ould days, whin a great man died, they used to burn his body. An' now I'm feelin' as if somethin' had died in me--the hope av winnin' Kate, McTee. So let's burn her letter between us, eh?" "Harrigan," said McTee with heartfelt emotion, "that thought is well worthy of you!" They knelt on the little spot. They placed the paper between them. Each scratched a match and lighted one side of the paper; the flames rose and met in the middle of the letter. Yet they did not watch the progress of the fire; by the sudden flare of light they gazed steadily into each other's face, straining their eyes as the light died away as though each had discovered in the other something new and strange. When they looked down, the paper was merely a dim, red glow which passed away as quickly as a flush dies from the face, and the wind carried away the frail ashes. Then they rose and walked shoulder to shoulder on and into the night.