Billy hesitated to follow him, for the last piece of information weighed heavily on his mind. That moment's hesitation was sufficient for the gypsy to make good his retreat. Although Billy leaped the wall the next moment, and darted hither and thither through the copse, he failed to catch sight of him again, and finally returned to the road, where he found Jacky seated on a stone, pondering in a state of bewilderment on what he had seen.

"Well, my boy, how goes it?" cried the sailor heartily, as he came forward, wiping his heated brow with a blue spotted cotton handkerchief.

"All right!" was Jacky's prompt reply. "I say, was you fightin' with that man?"

"Ay, that was I, and I've not done with him yet."

Jacky breathed hard and looked upon the young sailor-lad with a deep reverential awe, feeling that he was in the presence of a real Jack the Giant-killer.

"He runn'd away!" said Jacky in amazement. "Did you hit him hard?"

"Not with my fists; they ain't big enough for that yet. We've only had a sparring-match with words and legs."

Jacky glanced at Billy's legs as if he regarded them in the light of dire engines of destruction. Indeed, his active mind jumped at once to the conclusion that the sailor's must be a kicking mode of warfare; but he was too much amazed to make any rejoinder.

"Now, my boy, I'm going this way, so I'll bid you good-day," said Billy.

Jacky informed him that he was going the same way,--having only been taking a stroll,--and would willingly go back: whereupon Billy put his arm round his shoulder, as boys are wont to do, and Jacky grasped Billy round the waist, and thus they wandered home together.

"I say, you're a funny chap," observed the young sailor, in a comic vein, as they went along.

"So are you," replied Jacky, with intense gravity, being deeply serious.

Billy laughed; but as the two friends at that moment emerged from the pa.s.s and came in sight of the White House, the laugh was suddenly checked, and was followed by a sound that was not unlike choking. Jacky looked up in alarm, and was surprised to see tears hopping over his companion's brown cheeks. To find a lad who could put a giant to flight was wonderful enough, but to find one who could cry without any reason at all was beyond belief. Jacky looked perplexed and said, "I say, what's the matter?"

"Oh! nothing; only this is my old home, and my scrimmage with that villain has made me come plump on it without thinkin'. I was born here.

I know every stone and bush. I--I--there's the old--"

He choked again at this point, and Jacky, whose mind was only opening, stood looking on in silent wonder.

"My old granny lives here; old Moggy--"

The expression of Jacky's face caused Billy to stop.

"Why, what's wrong, boy?"

"Is--is--o-old Moggy _your_ granny?" cried Jacky, eagerly, stumbling over his words as if he had come upon stepping-stones in the dark.

"Ay; what then?"

"Eh! _I_ know her."

"Do you, my boy?"

"Ye-yes; sh-she's dyin'!"

The result of this remark was that the sailor-boy turned deadly pale, and stared at his little friend without being able to utter a word.

Mere human nature taught Jacky that he had made a mistake in being so precipitate: but home education had not taught him to consider the feelings of others. He felt inclined to comfort his new friend, but knew not how to do it. At last a happy thought occurred to him, and he exclaimed eagerly--

"B-but _sh-she's not dead yet_!"

"Does she live in the same cottage?" asked the boy, in a low, husky voice, not considering that his companion could not know what cottage she had occupied in former days. Jacky, also ignoring this fact, nodded his head violently, being past speech with excitement, and pointed in the direction of the hut.

Without another word, Billy, (more correctly speaking, Willie), at once took to his heels, and was followed by Jacky as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Flora Macdonald was administering a gla.s.s of hot wine and water to her patient, when the door was quickly, yet gently, opened, and a sailor-lad sprang into the room, fell on his knees beside the lowly couch, seized the old woman's hand, gazed for a few seconds into her withered face, and then murmuring, "Granny, it's me," laid his head on her shoulder and burst into tears.

Flora gently drew the boy away.

"Willie, is it possible; can it be you?"

"Is she dyin'?" said Willie, looking up in Flora's face with an expression of agony.

"I trust not, dear boy; but the doctor says she is very ill, and must be kept quiet."

"Hoot, awa' wi' the doctor! He's wrang," cried old Moggy, suddenly raising herself with great energy on one elbow; "don't I see my ain Willie there, as I've seen him in my dreams mony and mony a night?"

(Flora grasped Willie's arm to prevent his running towards her, and pointed to Jacky, who had at that moment entered the room, and was at once recognised by Moggy.) "Ay, little did I think when I said yestreen, 'Thy wull be done,' that He wad send my ain laddie back again!"

She folded Jacky, who had gone to the bedside, in her arms, and was with difficulty prevailed on to let him go. It was quite evident that her mind was wandering.

The effect of this little episode on Willie was powerful and twofold. A pang of jealousy at first shot through his heart like a flash of lightning; but when he perceived that the loving embrace was meant for his old self he broke down, and the tears once more tumbled over his brown cheeks.

"She cannot recognise you just now, dear Willie," said Flora, deeply touched by the sorrow of the lad; "and, even if she could, I fear it would do her harm by exciting her too much. Come, my poor fellow,"

(leading him softly to the door), "I am just going up to visit a kind English family, where they will be only too glad to put you up until it is safe to let her know that you have returned."

"But she may die, and never know that I have returned," said Willie, almost pa.s.sionately, as he hung back.

"She is in G.o.d's loving hands, Willie."

"Can I not stay and help you to nurse her?" asked the boy, in pitiful tones.

Flora shook her head, and Willie meekly suffered himself to be led out of the hut.

This, then, was the home-coming that he had longed for so intensely; that he had dreamed of so often when far away upon the sea! No sooner was he in the open air than he burst away from Flora without a word, and ran off at full speed in the direction of the pa.s.s. At first he simply sought to obtain relief to his feelings by means of violent muscular exercise. The burning brain and throbbing heart were unbearable. He would have given the world for the tears that flowed so easily a short time before; but they would not now come. Running, leaping, bounding madly over the rough hill-side--_that_ gave him some relief; so he held on, through bush and brake, over heathery knoll and peat swamp, until the hut was far behind him.

Suddenly his encounter with the gypsy occurred to him. The thought that he was the original cause of all this misery roused a torrent of indignation within him, and he resolved that the man should not escape.

His wild race was no longer without purpose now. He no longer sprang into the air and bounded from rock to rock like a wild goat, but, coursing down the bed of a mountain-torrent, came out upon the road, and did not halt until he was in front of the constabulary station.

"Hallo! laddie, what's wrang?" inquired a blue-coated official, whose language betokened him a Lowland Scot.

"I've seen him; come with me--quick! I'll take you to his whereabouts,"

gasped Willie.

"Seen whae?" inquired the man, with slow deliberation.

"The gypsy, Growler, who stole me, and would have murdered me this morning if he could have caught me; but quick, please! He'll get off if you don't look alive!"

The earnestness and fervour of the lad had the effect of exciting even the constable's phlegmatic nature; so, after a short conversation, he summoned a comrade, and set off for the pa.s.s at a round trot, led by Willie.

"D'ye think it's likely he'll ken ye've come here to tell on him?"