“Wheesht! rest ye, dear, rest ye,” said the Skilly Dame.
But she put the bairn in its mother's arms. Silis, when she had it on her breast, sobbed till the bed shook.
“Is not he the hero, darling?” said the Skilly Woman. “It's easy seen he's off Clan Diarmaid on one side, for all that yoar hair is black as the sloe. Look at the colour of him!”
Fright was in the mother's face. “Come close, come close till I tell you,” she said, her long hair damp on her milky shoulders.
The Skilly Woman put down her head and listened with wonder.
“Me-the-day! Was I not the blind one to miss it? His name, white love? No one shall ken it from me, not even Murdo.”
A man's name took up the last breath of Silis; she gave a little shiver, and choked with a sound that the old crone had heard too often not to know.
She looked, helpless, for a little at the bed, then felt the mother's feet. They were as cold as stone.
A cry caught Murdo's ear against the wattles, and he drove in the door with his shoulder, heeding no sneck nor bar.
“Am not I the blind fool?” said the crone.