The air blew cold in from the sea, and whistled through the bushes that
Sheila had trained about the porch. There was no rain now, but a great
and heavy darkness brooded overhead, and in the silence he could hear
the breaking of the waves along the hard coast. But what was this other
sound he heard, wild and strange in the stillness of the night--a shrill
and plaintive cry that the distance softened, until it almost seemed to
be the calling of a human voice? Surely those were words he heard, or
was it only that the old, sad air spoke to him?
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.
That was the message that came to him out of the darkness, and it seemed
to him as if the sea and the night and the sky were wailing over the
loss of his Sheila. He walked away from the house and up the hill
behind. Led by the sound of the pipes, that grew louder and more
unearthly as he approached, he found himself at length on a bit of high
table-land overlooking the sea, where Sheila had had a rude bench of
iron and wood fixed into the rock. On this bench sat a little old man,
humpbacked and bent, and with long white hair falling down to his
shoulders. He was playing the pipes--not wildly and fiercely, as if he
were at a drinking-bout of the lads come home from the Caithness
fishing, nor yet gaily and proudly, as if he were marching at the head
of a bridal procession, but slowly, mournfully, monotonously, as though
he were having the pipes talk to him.
Mackenzie touched him on the shoulder, and the old man started. “Is it
you, Mr. McKenzie?” he said in Gaelic. “It is a great fright you have
given me.”
“Come down to the house, John. The lads from Habost and Alister, and
some more will be coming; and you will get a ferry good dram, John, to
put wind in the pipes.”
“It’s no dram I’m thinking of, Mr. Mackenzie,” said the old man. “And
you will have plenty of company without me. But I will come down to the
house, Mr. Mackenzie--oh, yes, I will come down to the house--but _in a
little while_ I will come to the house.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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