Again an almost intolerably vivid flash of blue-green light, out of a dazzling flame that seemed to burst from the hills. The hollow roar and crash that followed dazed her, but in that moment's illumination she had seen the cairn and the stannin' stane, and, beside them, the figure of her father, apparently stricken and fallen prone. Without a thought of fear, either of the storm or the evil spirit that might be roaming the hillside, she half ran, half clambered upward till she came upon her father lying low. In a moment she was by his side, and had lifted his head, drying his face with her dress, and kissing him, with a crooning as of a mother over her child. He was not dead. For that she was thankful. She could feel the throb of his heart, and in his throat there was a sound as of sobbing breath. "Father, father," she cried; then, whispering in his ear, "Father of me, father of me, oh, dear to my heart, all is well! I am Sorcha! There is no evil thing here. Come home! Come home!" She felt the shiver that went over him. Then he sought with his hand, and clasped that which went to meet it. "What is it, Sorcha? Where am I?" "Ah, father, dear father, you are well now: arise: I will lead you home!" "Home?" "Yes; do you not hear the wind and the rain? _Ah--h--!_" Again a bursting roar overhead, and the whole of Iolair a beacon of flame whereon every boulder and crag stood out clear as in brilliant moonlight. "I remember! I remember!" Cameron cried, as he staggered to his feet. "Was it _you_, Sorcha, who took my hands a little ago, when--when--I was speaking to--to--Marsail?..." The girl recoiled in horror. Marsail ... her long-dead mother! "What is this thing that you say, O Torcall MacDiarmid?" she whispered, awestruck. "It is nothing. I was dreaming. Sorcha, I came here dreaming of past days. Your mother lies below the cairn there. I was talking to her to ease my pain. I thought she might hear. And while I spoke, I felt hands clasp mine, and try to pull me down--below the cairn, it may be! And then I fell into a horror, and the darkness came over my mind. And, suddenly, I knew that God spared me, though I had cursed Him, and I fell on my knees and cried the rune of Age, that is a rune of old, forgotten among our people, and therewith I was heard, and my strength knew the Breath, and I fell as you found me." "But, father, father, you are not in the dark way--you are not old, for all the grey of your hair--you are not going to die, and leave your Sorcha and Oona?" "Would you have me live, _nic-chridhe_?" Seldom did he speak to her thus, though often he called Oona his heart's dearie and other loving names. The tears came to her eyes. "Yes, yes, father! I would have you live. I love you." "My age is come upon me. I am weary." "Not yet: not yet!" "Do you not know the wisdom of old--_s'mairg a dh'iarradh an aoise, Woe to him that desireth extreme old age!_"