Now, it's useless me going alone, for nobody would listen to me.
They'd tell me to go back to the shop or they'd think me demented.
But with you, Mem, it would be a different matter. They wouldn't
disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me, and to come at once,
for God knows how soon our need will be sore. We'll leave your
cousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed's the place for her,
and then you and me will be off on our business."

The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. "It's the only way," he said.
"Get every man jack you can raise, and if it's humanly possible get
a gun or two. I believe there's time enough, for I don't see the
brig arriving in broad daylight."

"D'you not?" Dickson asked rudely. "Have you considered what day this is?
It's the Sabbath, the best of days for an ill deed. There's no kirk
hereaways, and everybody in the parish will be sitting indoors
by the fire." He looked at his watch. "In half an hour it'll be light.
Haste you, Mem, and get ready. Dougal, what's the weather?"

The Chieftain swung open the door, and sniffed the air. The wind had
fallen for the time being, and the surge of the tides below the rocks
rose like the clamour of a mob. With the lull, mist and a thin
drizzle had cloaked the world again.

To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits.
He began to sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty.


"Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be
Till our fit's on the neck o' the Boorjoyzee."