They have not yet come.
This adventurer of the dreaming mind is another Oran, that fabulous Oran of whom the later Columban legends tell. I think that other Orans go out, even yet, to the Country of the Sìdhe. But few come again. It must be hard to find that glen at the heart of the green diamond that is the world; but, when found, harder to return by the way one came.
Once when I was sailing to Tiree, I stopped at Iona, and went to see an old woman named Giorsal. She was of my own people, and, not being Iona-born, the islanders called her the foreigner. She had a daughter named Ealàsaidh, or Elsie as it is generally given in English, and I wanted to see her even more than the old woman.
"Where is Elsie?" I asked, after our greetings were done.
Giorsal looked at me sidelong, and then shifted the kettle, and busied herself with the teapot.
I repeated the question.
"She is gone," the old woman said, without looking at me.
"Gone? Where has she gone to?"
"I might as well ask you to tell me that."
"Is she married ... had she a lover ... or ... or ... do you mean that she ... that you ... have lost her?"