The midsummer moon found no man on Berneray except MacCodrum, the Reverend Mr Black, the minister of the Free Kirk, and an old man named Anndra McIan. On the night before the last day of the middle month, Anndra was reproved by the minister for saying that he had seen a man rise out of one of the graves in the kirkyard, and steal down by the stone-dykes towards Balnahunnur-sa-mona,[2] where Mànus MacCodrum lived. [2] _Baille-’na-aonar’sa mhonadh_, “the solitary farm on the hill-slope.” “The dead do not rise and walk, Anndra.” “That may be, maighstir; but it may have been the Watcher of the Dead. Sure, it is not three weeks since Padruic McAlistair was laid beneath the green mound. He’ll be wearying for another to take his place.” “Hoots, man, that is an old superstition. The dead do not rise and walk, I tell you.” “It is right you may be, maighstir; but I heard of this from my father, that was old before you were young, and from his father before him. When the last buried is weary with being the Watcher of the Dead he goes about from place to place till he sees man, woman, or child with the death-shadow in the eyes, and then he goes back to his grave and lies down in peace, for his vigil it will be over now.” The minister laughed at the folly, and went into his house to make ready for the Sacrament that was to be on the morrow. Old Anndra, however, was uneasy. After the porridge he went down through the gloaming to Balnahunnur-sa-mona. He meant to go in and warn Mànus MacCodrum. But when he got to the west wall, and stood near the open window, he heard Mànus speaking in a loud voice, though he was alone in the room. “_B’ionganntach do ghràdh dhomhsa, a’ toirt barrachd air gràdh nam ban!…_”[3] [3] “Thy love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.” This Mànus cried in a voice quivering with pain. Anndra stopped still, fearful to intrude, fearful also, perhaps, to see someone there beside MacCodrum whom eyes should not see. Then the voice rose into a cry of agony. “_Aoram dhuit, ay an déigh dhomh fàs aosda!_”[4] [4] “I shall worship thee, ay even after I have become old.” With that Anndra feared to stay. As he passed the byre he started, for he thought he saw the shadow of a man. When he looked closer he could see nought, so went his way trembling and sore troubled. It was dusk when Mànus came out. He saw that it was to be a cloudy night, and perhaps it was this that, after a brief while, made him turn in his aimless walk and go back to the house. He was sitting before the flaming heart of the peats, brooding in his pain, when, suddenly, he sprang to his feet. Loud and clear, and close as though played under the very window of the room, came the cold white notes of an oaten flute. Ah, too well he knew that wild fantastic air. Who could it be but Gloom Achanna, playing upon his _feadan_; and what air of all airs could that be but the Dàn-nan-Ròn?