"He was dripping wet, as though--as though----" "Well?" "_As though he had fallen into the Linn o' Mairg._" A savage spasm came into Cameron's face. The nails of his fingers drew blood in the prisoned hand, which was snatched away as Nial again moved out of reach. "I will lay my curse upon you, you evil beast!" Cameron shouted hoarsely--"Dhonas's a dholas ort!--Bas dunach ort!--Ay, ay, Nial the Soulless, son of the demon-woman, God against thee and in thy face, drowning on sea and burning on land, a stake of the whitethorn between thy heart and the pit of thy belly!"[11] [11] "_Dhonas's a dholas ort_"--"_Bas dunach ort_": _i.e._ "Evil and sorrow to you.... A death of woe be yours! God against thee," etc.: this dreadful and dreaded anathema runs in the Gaelic--"Dia ad aghaidh 's ad aodann, bathadh air muir is losgadh air tir, crogan sgithhich eadar do chridhe 's t' airnean": from which it will be seen, by those who know Gaelic, that I have not translated literally either "crogan" or "airnean." Of the few curses he knew, none seemed to Nial so terrible, so mysterious, so straight upon life out of Death, as that conveyed by the two words, "Marbh'asg ort!" He waited till the fury of the man was spent. Then, frowning darkly, with his red, bloodshot eyes agleam, he muttered, "_Marbh'asg ort!_... Your death-wrappings be about you!" So low was his voice that it fell unheeded. Cameron turned his sightless eyes upon him. Nial shivered. The blindness of his king hurt him as a searing pain. "What was the thing you said, Nial of the brutes?" With a great effort, the bitter word was slain ere it was spoken. The voice that came from that wild, fantastic, woodland thing, with its shaggy peaked head, its faun-like ears, its rude, misshapen body, was ever harsh as a branch grating in the wind; but now it was gentle. Tears that were unshed softened it. The grief of the pariah was its benediction. "Màm-Gorm, my father, the thing I said was a bitter thing out of Nial the herd, but this thing that I say to you is by poor Nial of the brutes, and that is _God preserve you ... ay, gu'n gleidheadh Dia thu, Torcall-mo-maighstir_!" And with that the brute turned from the man who had cursed him, and with slow steps and bent head made his way across the hillside, till he entered the forest, whence he came not for three days, and where none, not even Oona, saw him. It may be that he had heard at last the song of the white merle. V So the weeks went till the coming of the season that, because of the heats and of the drought, is called the month of the hanging of the dog's mouth.[12] [12] _Mios crochaidh nan con._ This month is the period from the middle of July till the middle of August.