Suddenly the woman flashed her black eyes upon him.
"Have you ever heard of am Buachaill Bàn—am Buachaill Buidhe?"
He looked at her in amaze. Am Buachaill Bàn! ... The fair-haired Herdsman, the yellow-haired Herdsman! What could she mean? In days gone by, he knew, the islanders, in the evil time after Culloden, had so named the fugitive Prince who had sought shelter in the Hebrides; and in some of the runes of an older day still the Saviour of the World was sometimes so called, just as Mary was called Bhuachaile nan treud—Shepherdess of the Flock. But it could be no allusion to either of these that was intended.
"Who is the Herdsman of whom you speak, Morag?"
"Is it no knowledge you have of him at all, Alan MacAilean?"
"None. I know nothing of the man, nothing of what is in your mind. Who is the Herdsman?"
"You will not be putting evil upon me because that you saw me here by the pool before I saw you?"
"Why should I, woman? Why do you think that I have the power of the evil eye? Sure, I have done no harm to you or yours, and wish none. But if it is for peace to you to know it, it is no evil I wish you, but only good. The Blessing of Himself be upon you and yours and upon your house!"
The woman looked relieved, but still cast her furtive gaze upon Alan, who no longer attempted to join her.
"I cannot be speaking the thing that is in my mind, Alan MacAilean. It is not for me to be saying that thing. But if you have no knowledge of the Herdsman, sure it is only another wonder of the wonders, and God has the sun on that shadow, to the Stones be it said."