A little later, McKeith having tubbed and changed his riding clothes, came to his wife's room.

He looked very large and clean and fair, and the worst of his temper had worn off in a colloquy with Ninnis, and the imparting and receiving of local news.

But his eyes were still gloomy, and his mouth sullenly determined.

And he had remembered with remorse that he should have softened to Bridget the sudden news of her friend's death.

The sight of her now--a small tragic figure with a white face and burning eyes, in a black dress into which she had changed, deepened his compunction.
'I am very sorry, Biddy.' He tried to put his arm round her shoulder, but she drew back.
'What are you sorry for, Colin--that Rosamond Tallant is dead, and that you forgot to tell me, and let me hear it from--Willoughby Maule ?' She paused perceptibly before pronouncing the christian name, 'Or that you behaved like an inhuman monster to those wretched Blacks, and refused me the only thing I have asked you for a good time past ?' Her tone roused his rancour anew.
'I think we'll drop the subject of the Blacks; there is no earthly use in talking about them, I make it a rule never to threaten without performing, and I'd punish them again, just the same--or more severely--under similar circumstances.' 'Very well.