Slowly he took the money, turned it over, and put it in his pocket. “I am going, Andrew Blair,” he said quietly, “I am going now. I will not say to him that is there in the silence, _A chuid do Pharas da!_--nor will I say to you, _Gu’n gleidheadh Dia thu_,--nor will I say to this dwelling that is the home of thee and thine, _Gu’n beannaicheadh Dia an tigh!_”[7] [7] (1) _A chuid do Pharas da!_ “His share of heaven be his.” (2) _Gu’n gleidheadh Dia thu_, “May God preserve you.” (3) _Gu’n beannaicheadh Dia an tigh!_ “God’s blessing on this house.” Here there was a pause. All listened. Andrew Blair shifted uneasily, the furtive eyes of him going this way and that, like a ferret in the grass. “But, Andrew Blair, I will say this: when you fare abroad, _Droch caoidh ort!_ and when you go upon the water, _Gaoth gun direadh ort!_ Ay, ay, Anndra-mhic-Adam, _Dia ad aghaidh ’s ad aodann … agus bas dunach ort! Dhonas ’s dholas ort, agus leat-sa!_”[8] [8] (1) _Droch caoidh ort!_ “May a fatal accident happen to you” (_lit._ “bad moan on you”). (2) _Gaoth gun direadh ort!_ “May you drift to your drowning” (_lit._ “wind without direction on you”). (3) _Dia ad aghaidh_, etc., “God against thee and in thy face … and may a death of woe be yours … Evil and sorrow to thee and thine!” The bitterness of these words was like snow in June upon all there. They stood amazed. None spoke. No one moved. Neil Ross turned upon his heel, and, with a bright light in his eyes, walked away from the dead and the living. He went by the byres, whence he had come. Andrew Blair remained where he was, now glooming at the corpse, now biting his nails and staring at the damp sods at his feet. When Neil reached the end of the milk-shed he saw Maisie Macdonald there, waiting. “These were ill sayings of yours, Neil Ross,” she said in a low voice, so that she might not be overheard from the house. “So, it is knowing me you are.” “Sheen Macarthur told me.” “I have good cause.” “That is a true word. I know it.” “Tell me this thing. What is the rune that is said for the throwing into the sea of the sins of the dead? See here, Maisie Macdonald. There is no money of that man that I would carry a mile with me. Here it is. It is yours, if you will tell me that rune.” Maisie took the money hesitatingly. Then, stooping, she said slowly the few lines of the old, old rune. “Will you be remembering that?” “It is not forgetting it I will be, Maisie.” “Wait a moment. There is some warm milk here.” With that she went, and then, from within, beckoned to him to enter. “There is no one here, Neil Ross. Drink the milk.” He drank; and while he did so she drew a leather pouch from some hidden place in her dress. “And now I have this to give you.” She counted out ten pennies and two farthings. “It is all the coppers I have. You are welcome to them. Take them, friend of my friend. They will give you the food you need, and the ferry across the Sound.”