She shook herself free, and moved to the other side of the table. On the opposite wall hung the dirk which had belonged to old Achanna. This she unfastened. Holding it in her right hand, she faced the three men.— “On the cross of the dirk I swear I will be the woman of Mànus MacCodrum.” The brothers made no response. They looked at her fixedly. “And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if any man come between me and Mànus, this dirk will be for his remembering in a certain hour of the day of the days.” As she spoke, she looked meaningly at Gloom, whom she feared more than Marcus or Seumas. “And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if evil come to Mànus, this dirk will have another sheath, and that will be my milkless breast; and by that token I now throw the old sheath in the fire.” As she finished, she threw the sheath on to the burning peats. Gloom quietly lifted it, brushed off the sparks of flame as though they were dust, and put it in his pocket. “And by the same token, Anne,” he said, “your oaths will come to nought.” Rising, he made a sign to his brothers to follow. When they were outside he told Seumas to return, and to keep Anne within, by peace if possible, by force if not. Briefly they discussed their plans, and then separated. While Seumas went back, Marcus and Gloom made their way to the haven. Their black figures were visible in the moonlight, but at first they were not noticed by the men on board the _Luath_, for Mànus was singing. When the islesman stopped abruptly, one of his companions asked him jokingly if his song had brought a seal alongside, and bid him beware lest it was a woman of the sea-people. His face darkened, but he made no reply. When the others listened they heard the wild strain of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” stealing through the moonshine. Staring against the shore, they could discern the two brothers. “What will be the meaning of that?” asked one of the men, uneasily. “When a man comes instead of a woman,” answered Mànus, slowly, “the young corbies are astir in the nest.” So, it meant blood. Aulay MacNeil and Donull Macdonull put down their gear, rose, and stood waiting for what Mànus would do. “Ho, there!” he cried. “Ho-ro!” “What will you be wanting, Eilanmore?” “We are wanting a word of you, Mànus MacCodrum. Will you come ashore?” “If you want a word of me, you can come to me.” “There is no boat here.” “I’ll send the _bàta-beag_.” When he had spoken, Mànus asked Donull, the younger of his mates, a lad of seventeen, to row to the shore. “And bring back no more than one man,” he added, “whether it be Eilanmore himself or Gloom-mhic-Achanna.”