He looked at her in amaze. _Am Buachaill Bàn!_ ... The fair-haired Herdsman, the yellow-haired Herdsman! What could she mean? In days gone by, he knew, the islanders, in the evil time after Culloden, had so named the fugitive Prince who had sought shelter in the Hebrides; and in some of the runes of an older day still the Saviour of the World was sometimes so called, just as Mary was called _Bhuachaile nan treud_--Shepherdess of the Flock. But it could be no allusion to either of these that was intended. "Who is the Herdsman of whom you speak, Morag?" "Is it no knowledge you have of him at all, Alan MacAilean?" "None. I know nothing of the man, nothing of what is in your mind. Who is the Herdsman?" "You will not be putting evil upon me because that you saw me here by the pool before I saw you?" "Why should I, woman? Why do you think that I have the power of the evil eye? Sure, I have done no harm to you or yours, and wish none. But if it is for peace to you to know it, it is no evil I wish you, but only good. The Blessing of Himself be upon you and yours and upon your house!" The woman looked relieved, but still cast her furtive gaze upon Alan, who no longer attempted to join her. "I cannot be speaking the thing that is in my mind, Alan MacAilean. It is not for me to be saying that thing. But if you have no knowledge of the Herdsman, sure it is only another wonder of the wonders, and God has the sun on that shadow, to the Stones be it said." "But tell me, Morag, who is the Herdsman of whom you speak?" For a minute or more the woman stood regarding him intently. Then slowly, and with obvious reluctance, she spoke-- "Why have you appeared to the people upon the isles, sometimes by moonlight, sometimes by day or in the dusk, and have foretold upon one and all who dwell here black gloom and the red flame of sorrow? Why have you, who are an outcast because of what lies between you and another, pretended to be a messenger of the Son--ay, for sure, even, God forgive you, to be the Son Himself?" Alan stared at the woman. For a time he could utter no word. Had some extraordinary delusion spread among the islanders, and was there in the insane accusation of this woman the secret of that which had so troubled him? "This is all an empty darkness to me, Morag. Speak more plainly, woman. What is all this madness that you say? When have I spoken of having any mission, or of being other than I am? When have I foretold evil upon you or yours, or upon the isles beyond? What man has ever dared to say that Alan MacAilean of Rona is an outcast? And what sin is it that lies between me and another of which you know?"