"You'll send word to the folk in Breadalbane.... Just say that I came
by an honest end.... Cheer up, lad. You'll live to see happy days
yet.... But keep mind of me, Andrew.... Man, I liked you well, and
would have been blithe to keep you company a bit longer...."

I was crying like a child. There was a little gold charm on a cord
round his neck, now dyed with his blood. He motioned me to look at it.

"Give it to the lass," he whispered. "I had once a lass like yon, and I
aye wore it for her sake. I've had a roving life, with many ill deeds
in it, but doubtless the Almighty will make allowances. Can you say a
bit prayer, Andrew?"

As well as I could, I repeated that Psalm I had said over the graves by
the Rapidan. He looked at me with eyes as clear and honest as a
child's.

"'In death's dark vale I will fear no ill,'" he repeated after me.
"That minds me of lang syne. I never feared muckle on earth, and I'll
not begin now."

I saw that the end was very near. The pain had gone, and there was a
queer innocence in his lean face. His eyes shut and opened again, and
each time the light was dimmer.

Suddenly he lifted himself. "The Horn of Diarmaid has sounded," he
cried, and dropped back in my arms.

That was the last word he spoke.