"_Tha 'n la nis air falbh ùainn, Tha 'n oidhche 'tighinn orm dlùth; 'S ni mise luidhe gu dion Fo dhubhar sgiath mo rùin. O gach cunnart 's o gach bàs, 'S o gach nàmhaid th' aig Mac Dhe, O nàdur dhaoine borba, 'S o choirbteachd mo nàduir fèin, Gabhaidh mis' a nis armachd Dhe, Gun bhi reubta no brisd', 'Sge b' oil leis an t' sàtan 's le phàirt Bi'dh mis' air mo gheàrd a nis._" The day is now gone; Dark night gathers around, And I will lay me safely down (to sleep) Under the shadow of my Beloved One's wing. Against all dangers, and death in every form, Against each enemy of God's good Son, Against the anger of the turbulent people, And against the corruption of my own nature, I will take unto me the armour of God-- That shall protect me from all assaults: And in spite of Satan and all his following, I shall be well and surely guarded. When, after an interval of speechless prayer, the lonely old woman rose painfully to her feet, she noticed the open window, and heard the sough of the wind without. With a tired sigh, she crossed the room to close the inside latch. But, at the window, she stood irresolute, held by the noise of the sea beating against the clamour of the wind. She stooped, and peered forth. Not a thing was visible. Suddenly a broad wavering gleam of sheet-lightning lit up the whole brae. Almost, she fancied, she could have sworn she saw three human figures, with bowed heads, moving across the brow of the slope. She could not know that three men, stricken with shame and remorse--remorse which would ere long bloom into the white flower of repentance, to be worn lovingly by all on the isle--were stealing homeward from a vain and wicked errand. With a shudder, she crossed herself, fearing that the figures she had imagined, or had really seen, were the three dreadful Accursed who drove the spear into Christ's side and the nails into His hands and feet, and with mocking offered Him the bitter sponge. Slowly repeating: "_O gach cunnart 's o gach bàs, 'S o gach nàmhaid th' aig Mac Dhe,_" she quenched with charred peat the flame of her fire, and was soon in a child-like rest "under the shadow of the wing of her Beloved One." * * * * * When midnight came upon the isle, the worst violence of the storm was over. Nevertheless, upon the sea was the awfulness of desolation, the rumour of a terrible wrath. All slept at last: the innocent Ealasaid, the foolish seekers of evil, the isle-folk one and all--except two. Alastair and Lora lay in each others' arms as children terrified in the dark.