The terrors of the night had returned upon Alec. Would the boat live?
Was there more than a chance? And if she went down, was he not damned
for ever? He made no reply. He was afraid.
"Alec!" shouted Thomas, in a voice that might have been heard across
the roar of the Glamour, "Will ye lat the women droon?"
"Thomas," answered Alec, meekly, trembling from head to foot, "gin I
gang to the boddom, I gang to hell."
"Better be damned, doin' the will o' God, than saved doin' noathing!"
said Thomas.
The blood shot into Alec's face. He turned and ran.
"Thomas," said James Johnstone, with shy interposition, laying his
forefinger upon the stonemason's broad chest, "hae ye considered what
ye're drivin' the young man till?"
"Ay, weel eneuch, Jeames Johnstone. Ye're ane o' thae mealy-mou'd
frien's that like a man sae wel they wad raither hae him gang wi' his
back to the pleuch, nor ca't i' the face o' a cauld win'. I wad raither
see my frein' hangt nor see him deserve hangin'. Haud awa' wi' ye. Gin
he disna gang, I'll gang mysel', an' I never was in a boat i' my life."
"Come awa, Thomas," cried Alec, already across three or four ridges; "I
canna carry her my lane.
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