"Nay, mine host, I beseech you to spare me. This is no time for
quavering," said the guest. "However, I am proud of your approbation, my
old friend; for this young lady do I intend to take to wife. What think
you of the plan?"

Hugh Crombie gazed into his companion's face for the space of a moment, in
silence. There was nothing in its expression that looked like a jest. It
still retained the same hard, cold look, that, except when Hugh had
alluded to his home and family, it had worn through their whole
conversation.

"On my word, comrade!" he at length replied, "my advice is, that you give
over your application to the quart pot, and refresh your brain by a short
nap. And yet your eye is cool and steady. What is the meaning of this?"

"Listen, and you shall know," said the guest. "The old man, her father, is
in his grave."

"Not a bloody grave, I trust," interrupted the landlord, starting, and
looking fearfully into his comrade's face.

"No, a watery one," he replied calmly. "You see, Hugh, I am a better man
than you took me for. The old man's blood is not on my head, though my
wrongs are on his. Now listen: he had no heir but this only daughter; and
to her, and to the man she marries, all his wealth will belong. She shall
marry me. Think you her father will rest easy in the ocean, Hugh Crombie,
when I am his son-in-law?"

"No, he will rise up to prevent it, if need be," answered the landlord.