"Well, well," replied the seal, speaking the good Gaelic as though it were the tongue of the deep sea, as God knows it may be for all you, I, or the blind wind can say; "well, well, let that thing be: it's a wave-way here or a wave-way there. But now, if it is a druid you are, whether of fire or of Christ, be telling me where my woman is, and where my little daughter." At this, Colum looked at him for a long while. Then he knew. "It is a man you were once, O Ròn?" "Maybe ay and maybe no." "And with that thick Gaelic that you have, it will be out of the north isles you come?" "That is a true thing." "Now I am for knowing at last who and what you are. You are one of the race of Odrum the Pagan?" "Well, I am not denying it, Colum. And what is more, I am Angus MacOdrum, Aonghas mac Torcall mhic Odrum, and the name I am known by is Black Angus." "A fitting name too," said Colum the Holy, "because of the black sin in your heart, and the black end God has in store for you." At that Black Angus laughed. "Why is the laughter upon you, Man-Seal?" "Well, it is because of the good company I'll be having. But, now, give me the word: Are you for having seen or heard of a woman called Kirsteen M'Vurich?" "Kirsteen--Kirsteen--that is the good name of a nun it is, and no sea-wanton!" "O, a name here or a name there is soft sand. And so you cannot be for telling me where my woman is?" "No." "Then a stake for your belly, and nails through your hands, thirst on your tongue, and the corbies at your eyne!" And, with that, Black Angus louped into the green water, and the hoarse wild laugh of him sprang into the air and fell dead upon the shore like a wind-spent mew. Colum went slowly back to the brethren, brooding deep. "God is good," he said in a low voice, again and again; and each time that he spoke there came a daisy into the grass, or a bird rose, with song to it for the first time, wonderful and sweet to hear. As he drew near to the House of God he met Murtagh, an old monk of the ancient race of the isles. "Who is Kirsteen M'Vurich, Murtagh?" he asked. "She was a good servant of Christ, she was, in the south isles, O Colum, till Black Angus won her to the sea." "And when was that?" "Nigh upon a thousand years ago." "But can mortal sin live as long as that?" "Ay, it endureth. Long, long ago, before Oisìn sang, before Fionn, before Cuchullin, was a glorious great prince, and in the days when the Tuatha-de-Danann were sole lords in all green Banba, Black Angus made the woman Kirsteen M'Vurich leave the place of prayer and go down to the sea-shore, and there he leaped upon her and made her his prey, and she followed him into the sea." "And is death above her now?" "No. She is the woman that weaves the sea-spells at the wild place out yonder that is known as Earraid: she that is called the sea-witch." "Then why was Black Angus for the seeking her here and the seeking her there?"