There was no reply at first. The three brothers sat looking at her like the kye at a stranger on the moorland. There was a deepening of the frown on Gloom’s brow, but when Anne looked at him his eyes fell and dwelt in the shadow at his feet. Then Marcus spoke in a low voice: “Is it Mànus MacCodrum you will be meaning?” “Ay, sure.” Again silence. Gloom did not lift his eyes, and Seumas was now staring at the peats. Marcus shifted uneasily. “And what will Mànus MacCodrum be wanting?” “Sure, Marcus, you know well what I mean. Why do you make this thing hard for me? There is but one thing he would come here wanting. And he has asked me if I will go with him; and I have said yes; and if you are not willing that he come again with the minister, or that we go across to the kirk in Berneray of Uist in the Sound of Harris, then I will not stay under this roof another night, but will go away from Eilanmore at sunrise in the _Luath_, that is now in the haven. And that is for the hearing and knowing, Marcus and Gloom and Seumas!” Once more, silence followed her speaking. It was broken in a strange way. Gloom slipped his feadan into his hands, and so to his mouth. The clear, cold notes of the flute filled the flame-lit room. It was as though white polar birds were drifting before the coming of snow. The notes slid in to a wild, remote air: cold moonlight on the dark o’ the sea, it was. It was the _Dàn-nan-Ròn_. Anne flushed, trembled, and then abruptly rose. As she leaned on her clenched right hand upon the table, the light of the peats showed that her eyes were aflame. “Why do you play _that_, Gloom Achanna?” The man finished the bar, then blew into the oaten pipe, before, just glancing at the girl, he replied: “And what harm will there be in _that_, Anna-ban?” “Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?” “Ay, and what then, Anna-ban?” “What then? Are you thinking I don’t know what you mean by playing the ‘Song o’ the Seals’?” With an abrupt gesture Gloom put the feadan aside. As he did so, he rose. “See here, Anne,” he began roughly, when Marcus intervened. “That will do just now, Gloom. Anne-à-ghraidh, do you mean that you are going to do this thing?” “Ay, sure.” “Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?” “It was a cruel thing.” “You know what is said in the isles about—about—this or that man, who is under _gheasan_, who is spell-bound and—and—about the seals—” “Yes, Marcus, it is knowing it that I am: ‘_Tha iad a’ cantuinn gur h-e daoine fo gheasan a th’ anns no roin._’” “‘_They say that seals_,’” he repeated slowly. “‘_They say that seals are men under magic spells._’ And have you ever pondered that thing, Anne, my cousin?” “I am knowing well what you mean.”