"Let me go, Torcall Cameron, or I will put a _rosad_ upon you, a spell that no _sian_ of Oona or Sorcha will save you from." "_You_, you thing of the woods, _you_ put a spell upon _me_: you who had my bread, and had my fire, and who would have died but for me! Ay, and you would put a spell upon me! And what would that _rosad_ be like, now, from you that have never consorted with men, and have learned nothing save from the lassie Oona?" "When I was with the children of the wind," Nial began, to be interrupted at once by his captor, who muttered, "Ah, the gypsies I forgot"--and grew grave, as with the shadow of a fear. "When I was with the children of the wind, Màm-Gorm, I learned some things that even you may not know. And in the woods I have learned that which no man knows. And if I put the evil upon you, you will die slow, year by year, from the brain that is behind your eyes to the last bones of your feet!" Cameron shuddered. "It may be so. God forgive me, any way. You have done me no harm. But look you, Nial of the woods, keep out of my way when I wander abroad--and let me hear no more of your spells. There: you are free to go. Yet even now that my hand is off you, I long to make sure that you are not the thing that came out of the cairn." With a dark, vengeful face the elf-man moved out of reach; then he whispered in a slow, meaning way: "I am going, for I see Marsail coming down the hill from the cairn, and with her is a man----" "A man! A man!" shouted Cameron, trembling as in an ague. "Who is the man? What is he like? Give me your hand, Nial, give me your hand, for the love of God!" "He is tall and fair, and dripping wet, with his hair lank about his head, with the water in it." Ah, he had his revenge now! Màm-Gorm gave a low moan, and sank to his knees. There he cowered, muttering incoherently. "Nial," he whispered hoarsely at last, "Nial, Nial, do they come this way--Marsail and--and--the man who is dripping wet?" The dwarf raised his head and stared about him. He was tempted to make his late tormentor suffer; but the brute heart of the soulless man was melted because of the agony of one of the lords of life. "I see no one now, Màm-Gorm." "No one--_no one_?" "No." "Are you sure, Nial?" "I am sure." "Give me your hand." "You will do me no hurt?" "On my soul!" Nial slowly advanced, took the outstretched hand in his, and helped the trembling man to rise. "Nial, tell me this thing. Have you seen these--these--these _two_ before this?" "I have never seen the woman." "Then how do you know it was Marsail, who is dead years and years and years agone?" "Is it forgetting you are that when I was a child I saw her body, on the day of the snow?" There was a pause, wherein the questioner brooded darkly. At last, in a low strained voice, he asked: "Have you ever seen the man?" "No." "Do you know who he was?" "No." "Can you guess who he was?" Silence. "Speak, Nial!" Silence. "Speak, Nial, whom I have fathered."