The first to speak was his brother, and then only when thin reddish-white foam-bubbles began to burst from the blue lips of Marcus. “It is murder.” He spoke low, but it was like the surf of breakers in the ears of those who heard. “You have said one part of a true word, Gloom Achanna. It is murder … that you and he came here for.” “The death of Marcus Achanna is on you, Mànus MacCodrum.” “So be it, as between yourself and me, or between all of your blood and me; though Aulay MacNeill as well as you can witness that, though in self-defence I threw the knife at Achanna, it was his own doing that drove it into him.” “You can whisper that to the rope when it is round your neck.” “And what will _you_ be doing now, Gloom-nic-Achanna?” For the first time Gloom shifted uneasily. A swift glance revealed to him the awkward fact that the boat trailed behind the _Luath_, so that he could not leap into it; while if he turned to haul it close by the rope, he was at the mercy of the two men. “I will go in peace,” he said quietly. “Ay,” was the answer, in an equally quiet tone: “in the white peace.” Upon this menace of death the two men stood facing each other. Achanna broke the silence at last. “You’ll hear the Dàn-nan-Ròn the night before you die, Mànus MacCodrum: and, lest you doubt it, you’ll hear it again in your death-hour.” “_Ma tha sìn an Dàn_--if that be ordained.” Mànus spoke gravely. His very quietude, however, boded ill. There was no hope of clemency. Gloom knew that. Suddenly he laughed scornfully. Then, pointing with his right hand as if to someone behind his two adversaries, he cried out: “Put the death-hand on them, Marcus! Give them the Grave!” Both men sprang aside, the heart of each nigh upon bursting. The death-touch of the newly slain is an awful thing to incur, for it means that the wraith can transfer all its evil to the person touched. The next moment there was a heavy splash. In a second Mànus realised that it was no more than a ruse, and that Gloom had escaped. With feverish haste he hauled in the small boat, leaped into it, and began at once to row so as to intercept his enemy. Achanna rose once, between him and the _Luath_. MacCodrum crossed the oars in the thole-pins, and seized the boat-hook. The swimmer kept straight for him. Suddenly he dived. In a flash, Mànus realised that Gloom was going to rise under the boat, seize the keel, and upset him, and thus probably be able to grip him from above. There was time and no more to leap: and, indeed, scarce had he plunged into the sea ere the boat swung right over, Achanna clambering over it the next moment. At first Gloom could not see where his foe was. He crouched on the upturned craft, and peered eagerly into the moonlit water. All at once a black mass shot out of the shadow between him and the smack. This black mass laughed: the same low, ugly laugh that had preceded the death of Marcus.