"But when I asked her what she meant by that, she would say no more. No asking of mine would bring the word to her lips, only she shook her head and kept her gaze from my face. Then, seeing that it was useless, I said to her-- "'Marsail, tell me this: Was this sight of yours the sole thing that made the people here on Rona look askance at Alan MacAilean?' "For a time she stared at me with dim eyes, then suddenly she spoke-- "'It is not all.' "'Then what more is there, Marsail Macrae?' "'That is not for the saying. I have no more to say. Let you, or Alan MacAilean, go elsewhere. That which is to be, will be. To each his own end.' "'Then be telling me this now at least,' I asked: 'is there danger for him or me in this island?' "But the poor old woman would say no more, and then I saw a swoon was on her." After this, Alan and Ian walked slowly home together, both silent, and each revolving in his mind as in a dim dusk that mystery which, vague and unreal at first, had now become a living presence, and haunted them by day and night. IV "In the shadow of pain, one may hear the footsteps of joy." So runs a proverb of old. It was a true saying for Alan. That night he lay down in pain, his heart heavy with the weight of a mysterious burden. On the morrow he woke blithely to a new day--a day of absolute beauty. The whole wide wilderness of ocean was of living azure, aflame with gold and silver. Around the promontories of the isles the brown-sailed fishing-boats of Barra and Berneray, of Borosay and Seila, moved blithely hither and thither. Everywhere the rhythm of life pulsed swift and strong. The first sound which had awakened Alan was of a loud singing of fishermen who were putting out from Aonaig. The coming of a great shoal of mackerel had been signalled, and every man and woman of the near isles was alert for the take. The watchers had known it by the swift congregation of birds, particularly the gannets and skuas. And as the men pulled at the oars, or hoisted the brown sails, they sang a snatch of an old-world tune, still chanted at the first coming of the birds when spring-tide is on the flow again-- "Bui' cheas dha 'n Ti thaine na Gugachan Thaine's na h-Eoin-Mhora cuideriu, Cailin dugh ciaru bo's a chro! Bo dhonn! bo dhonn! bo dhonn bheadarrach! Bo dhonn a ruin a bhlitheadh am baine dhuit Ho ro! mo gheallag! ni gu rodagach! Cailin dugh ciaru bo's a chro-- Na h-eoin air tighinn! cluinneam an ceol!" (Thanks to the Being, the Gannets have come, Yes! and the Great Auks along with them. Dark-haired girl!--a cow in the fold! Brown cow! brown cow! brown cow, beloved ho! Brown cow! my love! the milker of milk to thee! Ho ro! my fair-skinned girl--a cow, in the fold, And the birds have come!--glad sight, I see!)