"Muckle John!" they cried aghast.
"I thought he was no ordinary man," said the black Mackenzie to his neighbour.
"Muckle John!" repeated the other, "it is the rare fools we have been, Angus—I think I will be getting home."
"Come," said Muckle John to Neil Mackenzie, and without a word they started.
But of a sudden Muckle John stopped in his tracks.
"Rob," he said, "make due south, keeping the sea-line and halt two miles away on the shore. I have business here," and turning back he disappeared in the darkness.
Near the wrecked cottage he found the old woman weeping silently.
"Sheen, poor woman," he said, "it is not my father's son would ruin you who know my secret."
"You are still nameless?"
"Still nameless, Sheen, until I meet the man who killed my father."