She was still speaking to the lassie when Maisie Macdonald, the deid-watcher, opened the door of the room behind the kitchen to see who it was that was come. The two old women nodded silently. It was not till Sheen was in the closed room, midway in which something covered with a sheet lay on a board, that any word was spoken.
"Duit sìth mòr, Beann Macdonald."
"And deep peace to you, too, Sheen; and to him that is there."
"Och, ochone, mise 'n diugh; 'tis a dark hour this."
"Ay; it is bad. Will you have been hearing or seeing anything?"
"Well, as for that, I am thinking I saw lights moving betwixt here and the green place over there."
"The corpse-lights?"
"Well, it is calling them that they are."
"I thought they would be out. And I have been hearing the noise of the planks—the cracking of the boards, you know, that will be used for the coffin to-morrow."
A long silence followed. The old women had seated themselves by the corpse, their cloaks over their heads. The room was fireless, and was lit only by a tall wax death-candle, kept against the hour of the going.