"Stand back, Nial: the woman Anabal, wife of Fergus, is speaking to me." With a groan he staggered to one side. Was she here, then, and not still sitting on the great rock overlooking the Strath? Sure, then, a spirit must she be: and no wraith now, for his eyes were void of her. But for all his dread, he must guard his lamb. If only he knew one of the spells in the Book, that he had placed at Oona's feet! "And what will An--what will she be saying to you, my bird?" "She says: '_Leanabh, dh' èirich dha; dh' èirich domh; eiridh dhuit_!'" Nial slowly repeated the words below his breath: "_Child, it has happened to him; it has happened to me; it will happen to you_." Oona must be ill, he thought; as Murdo was two winters ago, that time he came back from the Strath, on the last night of the year, lurching and swaying, and saying wild, meaningless things. "And what else will she be saying to you, birdeen?" "'_Thig thu gu h'anamoch!_'" "'_Thou shalt come later_'; sure now, dear, there is no meaning in that! Oona, my bonnie, lie down; lie down, wee lassie, and sleep, and sleep!" But even as he spoke, he saw a change in her face. It was like moonshine suddenly moving on dark water. He caught fragmentary words ... _suain_ ... _sìth_ ... and then, with "sleep" and "peace" still on her lips, she lay back, smiling. Slowly and soundlessly he approached the bed. In the intense stillness he heard his breath going like the slow, heavy beat of a heron's wing. Outside, the baying of the dog had suddenly ceased. She was asleep, or nigh so. He stooped and kissed the yellow tangles that overspread the pillow. Her lips moved. What was the thing she whispered? He could not hear; ah, she was murmuring it again: "_... anail ... breath of ... breath of a...._" "_Hush-sh-sh_, birdeen," he whispered low; then, seeing that her lips again muttered drowsily, he put his ear to them. "_And then ... she ... smiled ... and said: Do not ... fear!_ (a pause, a sigh) _... sacred is the ... breath ... the breath of ... a mother_." The child slept. He stole back to the ingle. There was peace now; even the wind, though it moaned and swelled more and more loudly, was as a soothing song. And so the night passed; Nial sleeping fitfully, waking often, and ever when he woke pondering that last saying of the child, _Is blàth anail na mathar_. XI That night, any wayfarer going down Strath Iolair, between the Pass of the Eagles and Inverglas, must have been startled by a windy blaze of flame against the slope of Tornideon. Since sundown the wind had increased in strength. The loud clarion-call could be heard unceasing on the hills. Through the Pass it came with long wail or dreary sough, then with a howl would swoop along Mairg Water, with a noise that washed away the roar of the Linn. One man, at least, saw it. Under an arch of rock, in a space half filled with fragrant dry bracken, Murdo the shepherd watched.