“I’ll send the bàta-beag.”
When he had spoken, Mànus asked Donull, the younger of his mates, a lad of seventeen, to row to the shore.
“And bring back no more than one man,” he added, “whether it be Eilanmore himself or Gloom-mhic-Achanna.”
The rope of the small boat was unfastened, and Donull rowed it swiftly through the moonshine. The passing of a cloud dusked the shore, but they saw him throw a rope for the guiding of the boat alongside the ledge of the landing place; then the sudden darkening obscured the vision. Donull must be talking, they thought, for two or three minutes elapsed without sign, but at last the boat put off again, and with two figures only. Doubtless the lad had had to argue against the coming of both Marcus and Gloom.
This, in truth, was what Donull had done. But while he was speaking Marcus was staring fixedly beyond him.
“Who is it that is there?” he asked, “there, in the stern?”
“There is no one there.”
“I thought I saw the shadow of a man.”
“Then it was my shadow, Eilanmore.”
Achanna turned to his brother.