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Taking it down to a small creek that gave entrance to the seashore, I came to a rock that was washed by the deep waters, and here I tied a large stone around Selta's neck and silently lowered the body into the sea, where the great waves of the Atlantic murmured a solemn requiem.
The dog had strength only to raise her head in recognition, with a mournful look in her pleading eyes. "My poor doggie!" I moaned, utterly cast down; and my falling tears were mingled with Selta's blood. The dog was dead.
"What is it?" said Hercus. "Can you not see, lad? Why, it's silver!" Now the explanation of Willie's curious discovery, as we afterwards fully learned, was this: When I took up the dead falcon, Hercus, intent upon witnessing Selta's skill at ratting, stood beside the dog as she scraped with her forefeet the shingle from the crevice through which the rat had escaped.
I was downcast at this question, for it was this same old man before me this Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar who had given Selta to me, and the dog that was with him was Selta's brother. "Colin," I asked, when I had told him of my dog's death, "why is it you come to this poor place for shelter when every house in the Mainland is open to you? Why do you not go to my uncle's at Lyndardy?"
Selta made a snap at its back, and raised her forepaw to hold her enemy down. The otter caught the foot in its mouth, and I heard the bones crunch in the vicious bite. Selta lost hold and fell over the otter's back; her foot was released; but the otter, bringing up its head between the dog's front legs, grasped Selta's throat with its sharp teeth.
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