It was a thing to flee from. One desire only possessed him now, to reach the safe green quietudes of the pine-forest once more. There all was familiar; there he could evade man or wraith. And so he, too, left that solitude where, once again, Torcall and Anabal were nigh one to another, and not knowing it. How could he know--none but God knew--that in the woman's ears was the roar of the Linn forever? that the laughter of a kelpie wrought her ever to an excruciating terror? Dumb, motionless, staring unwaveringly: so was she at the flame-red setting, as she had been since the first blaze had lightened along the peaks of the east. X It was within an hour of nightfall when, from the verge of the forest below Màm-Gorm, Nial caught sight of the kye coming down from the hill-pastures. He could not see Sorcha, but he knew she must be there; probably with Alan, who for days past had been wont to depute his own shepherding on Tornideon to a herd-laddie who lived with an old drover just beyond the Pass of the Eagles. Nial had already been up at the farm. Oona lay where he had left her, and was still in the same profound and, but for her low breathing, deathlike slumber. Thence he had wandered back to the forest, thinking that he would descend toward the Linn o' Mairg, and see if Murdo were still there in his quest for Anabal. He had scarce entered the pine-glades when, happening to glance backward, he saw the cows coming home. Sure enough, in a few minutes Sorcha appeared: and, as he had surmised, Alan with her. They walked together, his arm about her waist, while slowly they followed the leisurely kye. As they came nearer, Nial heard Sorcha singing one of her many milking songs. Often he had heard her sing that which now came rippling down the heather, and he could have given her word for word for it. O sweet St. Bride of the Yellow, yellow hair: Paul said, and Peter said, And all the saints alive or dead Vowed she had the sweetest head, Bonnie, sweet St. Bride of the Yellow, yellow hair. White may my milking be, White as thee: Thy face is white, thy neck is white, Thy hands are white, thy feet are white, For thy sweet soul is shining bright-- O dear to me, O dear to see, St. Bridget white! Yellow may my butter be, Soft and round: Thy breasts are sweet, Soft, round, and sweet So may my butter be: So may my butter be, O Bridget sweet! Safe thy way is, safe, O Safe, St. Bride: May my kye come home at even, None be fallin', none be leavin', Dusky even, breath-sweet even Here, as there, where, O St. Bride, thou Keepest tryst with God in heav'n, Seest the angels bow And souls be shriven-- Here, as there, 'tis breath-sweet even, Far and wide-- Singeth thy little maid Safe in thy shade, Bridget, Bride!"