“But I did not answer. ‘Come,’ I said, ‘come with me. I have something to say to you. You can do no good here now. She has taken poison, because of the shame and the sorrow.’ “‘Poison!’ he cried, in horror; and also, I could see in the poor cowardly mind of him, in a sudden sick fear. “But when I rose to leave the room he made ready to follow me. I kissed Muireall for the last time. The man approached, as though to do likewise. I lifted my riding-whip. He bowed his head, with a deep flush on his face, and came out behind me. “I told the inn-folk that my father would be over in the morning. Then I rode slowly away. Jasper Morgan followed on his horse, a grey stallion that Muireall and I had often ridden, for he was from Teenabrae farm. “When we left the village it was into a deep darkness. The rain and the wind made the way almost impassable at times. But at last we came to the ford. The water was in spate, and the rushing sound terrified my horse. I dismounted, and fastened Gealcas to a tree. The man did the same. “‘What is it, Morag?’ he asked in a quiet steady voice--‘Death?’ “‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Death.’ “Then he suddenly fell forward, and snatched my hand, and begged me to forgive him, swearing that he had loved me and me only, and imploring me to believe him, to love him, to … Ah, the _hound_! “But all I said was this: “‘Jasper Morgan, soon or late I would kill you, because of this cruel wrong you did to her. But there is one way: best for _her_ … best for _me_ … best for _you_.’ “‘What is that?’ he said hoarsely, though I think he knew now. The roar of the Gorromalt Water filled the night. “‘There is one way. It is the only way … Go!’ “He gave a deep quavering sigh. Then without word he turned, and walked straight into the darkness.” Morag paused here. Then, in answer to my frightened whisper, she added simply: “They will find his body in the shallows, down by Drumdoon. The spate will carry it there.” * * * * * After that we lay in silence. The rain had begun to fall again, and slid with a soft stealthy sound athwart the window. A dull light grew indiscernibly into the room. Then we heard someone move downstairs. In the yard, Angus, the stableman, began to pump water. A cow lowed, and the cluttering of hens was audible. I moved gently from Morag’s side. As I rose, Maisie passed beneath the window on her way to the byre. As her wont was, poor wild wildered lass, she was singing fitfully. It was the same ballad again. But we heard a single verse only. “For I have killed a man,” she said, “A better man than you to wed: I slew him when he clasped my head, And now he sleepeth with the dead.” Then the voice was lost in the byre, and in the sweet familiar lowing of the kine. The new day was come. _THE DAN-NAN-RON_ _NOTE_