For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane. And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little dauntless figure holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the gale; and a shrill voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind, crying:
"Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
Scots wham Bruce has often led!
Welcome to--!'
Here he is, Wullie!
"'--or to victorie !"
The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep found. And the last; James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of the Shadow and away.
David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam produced a. familiar bottle.
"Here's something to warm yer inside, and'" --****** a feint at the strap on the wails--' "here's something to do the same by yer--.-----But, Wullie, oot again!"
And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was hard and set as it always was in time of trouble.
Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of muffled feet.
Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent, gray spectre.
Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then the boy crept quietly away;only a little pool of water on the floor and wet, treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never slept.
The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched.
His head lay motionless along his paws, but. the steady gray eyes never flinched or drooped.
Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across the passage.
At the foot of the stairs he halted, his fore-. paws on the first step, his grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The dim light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate of death.
Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary while.
Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken.
Upstairs, feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
A life was coming in; a life was going out. The minutes passed;hours passed; and, at-the sunless dawn, a life passed.
And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood, still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came down to his ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a little whimpering note, crept back to his blanket.
A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no trace of emotion on his face.
At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came crouching up, head -and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or since. At his master's feet he stopped Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!"That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
