will ye, clear up this dreadfu' mystery?"

"Uncle Ivan," I said, takin' him by both hands; "look at my face and hair; look close at my claes and shoon! Come wi' me, and bring others too, to the cliff face below the sitting-stone in the turn o' the path-- and then it's just possible, but it's no likely, ye'll believe what I have to tell. First, let me say to ye, I'm innocent o' any crime. Do ye believe that?"

My uncle lookit at me long and hard, and I grippit his hands tight.

"I do," he said, at last.

A weight sprung off my heart.

"Uncle, did I ever tell ye a lee?"

"Never that I ken."

"Never--never! I kenned he wud come back!" said another voice.

It was Aunt Tibbie, and she took me in her arms. "I believed ye to be innocent, Sandy; and sae did Rab, and a many more," she said. "But where ha' ye been?"

"Ye'll no believe me, gin' I tell ye. I don't wonder at that. Ye can't believe it, mebbe, but I'll tell ye."

"It's naething wrong, Sandy?" said Aunt Tibbie.

"Nae, naething but laziness, an' I couldna help that. I've been asleep--in a traunce--in a stupor--like a toad in a stane, for a' these years, an' have come to life this verra day!"

Then I told them all about it; and sic things as traunces--though not, maybe, to last as long as mine--had been heard o' before, and they could not but believe it; but they were awa' again to Rab's wedding, frae which they'd come hame only to fetch a silver cup, that was to drink the healths o' the bride and bridegroom.

"Auntie! where's my silver mug, that I won at the games at the laird's hair'st?" I asked.

"Safe put away wi' the chaney, lad, an' noo it's yours again."

"Auntie, wad ye tak it as my gift ta Maggie? and, uncle, will ye gie my message to Rab, that I'll no' stay here to bring an ill name or suspicion on him or his; but if he'd come an' gie me his hand before I'm awa'?--t'will be little to him, and much to me, though I've been true to him for a whole lifetime--what's gane of it, at least."

So auntie took the silver mug, and they both left me; but not till I had heard how, twa days after I had gane, David Preece had been to Donald Miller's cottage an' offered Maggie a necklace o' gaudy beads, and how Maggie handed them back tae him, though he told her he was to leave Slievochan next day. Aunt Tibbie heard o' this: and when Maggie told what was the like o' the bauble, there was a cry for Preece, till it was heard how Rory Smith hadna' been seen for those three days, and that I hadna' been found or heard o'.

So, ye ken, it was which o' us should come back first wad be ca'd to find the other twa.

I sat brood--broodin', waiting for aunt and uncle to return. Eatin' and drinkin', and smokin' (for there was beef an' whisky, and a cold pie o'

auntie's making); but I wadna' change my claes till they should gae wi'

me to the cliff face.

Before the sun was off the sea, I heard a sound of voices outside; and in a minute I had a hand o' Rab, and a hand o' Maggie and her mither, an' half-a-dozen o' our fishers round us who'd known me from a laddie; and then uncle said, "Now let us away to the cliff path before any o'

the rest come back fra the wedding. While they think Rab and Maggie hae gone off o' the sly, as, indeed, they hae, and are ganging ower to the island in the new boat to Rab's cottie."

"'Twas gran' o' ye, Rab, and o' ye, too, Maggie, to come to see me on your weddin'-day," I said. "I'll no forget it when I'm far awa."

"I would ha' been no gran' not to ha' come," said Rab, "to tell our brither that we stan' against a' that daur accuse him o' wrang. Why need ye gae, Sandy? Stay and tak' the brunt o't."

"An' for why, Rab? To bring trouble an' cold looks upo' them that I'd as sune die as cause grief to, an' that when there's no need o' me to work here. Nae, nae, I'm awa' to sea, Rab; an' when I come hame, only friends need know who 'tis, except, indeed, I suld find Rory Smith alive in my travels; and, who knows, but I may find puir David Preece, and get my necklace back."

"Dinna touch it--dinna touch it!" said Aunt Tibbie, shudderin'.

So we a' went to the cliff, and there, standin' by the stane, in my withered claes and puckered shoon, and wi' my whitened face an' a', I told them again; and we men went down to the hole on the cliff side, while the women sat on the stane above, and we shook hands all round.

That same evening, two boats shot out o' our little bay, the first one a new craft, Rab's ain, wi' a gran' flag flying, and carrying him an' his bonnie bride hame. Auntie and Mistress Miller were with us; uncle sitting by me while I stood at the tiller, and two men forward. Behind it was a row-boat, wi' a piper at the prow, playin' the bride hame. In this boat we a' went back to Slievochan, except Rab and Maggie; and once more I slept in my old room till mornin'; when, wi' a fit-out o' claes, and some money that I was to repay as soon as I could draw my wages, I set out for England.

It was when the Polar Expedition of 1827 was getting ready, and I was one o' them that joined it, though ye may not know my name.

I'll no' describe onything o' that voyage, sin' ye will ha' it that I'm repeatin' frae book; but I'm near to the end o' my yarn now. When we met the last o' the natives near to the Pole, there was a party came out to barter with us, and one man came forward to speak English, which he did sae weel that we lookit hard at him. We had little to barter at that time, but presently this fellow pulls out something frae his pouch, an' holds it up by the end, and ye'll no believe it, but there was the row o' beads that had nigh lost me my life, and had quite lost me my hame above ten years before! Up to him I strode. "David Preece," I shouted in his ear, "ye can gae back to Slievochan; for 'twas no you that killit Rory Smith, nor that stole my present, meant for Maggie Miller."

"No," said Preece, slowly, after looking round to see whether any of the Esquimaux noticed him; "and I'll tell you, for your comfort, that you didn't kill Rory Smith neither; for when I went to the great American plains, after leaving Scotland, and finishing a job in Cornwall, I went across with a party of trappers and Indians, and there was Rory sitting on a mustang, and looking for all the world like a Mexikin. I shall come home with you now, and bring this necklace with me. The people here think it's a charm."

As Sandy Macpherson ceased, and his eyes came back out of s.p.a.ce, the men found their tongues.

"And did he come back, Sandy?"

"Yes; but not with me."

"And did you go back to what d'ye call it--Slievochan?"

"Of course I did, and left a nest-egg for Rab and Maggie's eldest boy."

"And that was how long ago?"

"Above thirty years."

"And have you been since?"

"Of course; to leave a dowry for _his_ eldest _girl_."

"And how long's that ago?"

"Say ten years."

"Then you haven't been to sleep since?"

"Haven't I though! I've had thirty years of it, in three different times; else how should I be eighty year old, and yet out here."

"Well, of all the yarns--" began Bostock.

"Hoot! of a' the yarns and a' the yarns! What's wrang wi' ye? Wad ye hae a Scot's yarn wi'out plenty o' twist tae't?"

"Here, stop!" cried the doctor--"stop, man! You haven't told us how you got frozen in here. Don't say you found the North Pole?"

"No fear, doctor," I said, as a cold wind seemed to fill the tent, and the place of the Scotch sailor was taken up by a thin, blue, filmy mist.

"But I wanted--" began the doctor.

"Don't; pray don't try to call him back, uncle," said his nephew.