[#] Gillie Ciotach—the left-handed young man.
"Oh, well, indeed, sir," said Martha, in a deprecating way, "the poor young lad meant no harm. He was coming over here anyway, because he lost a dog, and he was wishing to find the dog."
At this the young master burst out laughing.
"The Gillie Ciotach is an excellent one for lies, and that is certain!" said he. "His dog? And how could his dog swim across from Lochgarra to Eilean Heimra? Tell Gillie Ciotach from me that when he comes over here he may look after the lobsters, but he will be better not to tell lies about a dog, and also he will do well to leave the Lochgarra grouse alone. And now, Martha, if there is any dinner for me, let me have it at once; for I am going back to the yacht by-and-bye."
He went into the simply-furnished dining-room, where there was a lamp on the table and likewise a magnificent peat-fire ablaze in the big iron grate—a welcome change from the little stove in the cabin of the Sirène. He had brought his letters with him in his hand. He drew in a wickerwork lounging-chair towards the fireplace, and idly began to tear the envelopes open: here were tidings, various hushed voices, as it were, from the busy world that seemed so distant to him, living in these remote solitudes. It is true he had been away for a time from Eilean Heimra; but during that interval there had not been much of human companionship for him; nay, there was for the most part a greater loneliness than ever, especially when he took his watch on deck at night, sending the two men below for much-needed rest. Indeed these letters and newspapers seemed almost to make a stir and noise!—so used had he been to silence and the abstraction of his own thoughts.
Meanwhile Coinneach and Calum had returned to the yacht, had got some supper, and were now up at the bow, contemplatively smoking, and chatting to each other in their native tongue. Night had fallen; but the skies were becoming clearer and more clear; the starlit heavens were gradually revealing themselves. There was not a sound—since the rattle of the anchor had disturbed the quietude of the little bay.
"The work is not over yet," Coinneach was saying, in somewhat low tones, "and it is the part of the work that I have no liking for. Anything else I shrink not back from, when the master wishes; he is the one to follow, and I will go with him wherever he desires; and that in safety, too—for who knows the navigation like himself, yes, and speaking every language that is known upon the earth? I will go with him wherever he wishes; I will do whatever he wishes. But, Calum, I have no liking for the Uamh coilich na glaodhaich."[#]
[#] Uamh coilich na glaodhaich—The Cave of the Crowing Cock.
"Nor I, Coinneach," said his companion. "Especially in the night-time."
"Day-time or night-time: what is the difference in the Uamh coilich na glaodhaich, when it is so dark that no man has ever been to the end of it, or knows to what it leads? Nor is any man likely to try to discover, since the one that went on and on, until he heard a cock crowing. Oh, God, that must have been a terrible thing, to be so near the edge of another world that you could hear a cock crowing there. And if the people had caught him and kept him—they would have taken him away to the place where the piper went when he played Cha till mi tuilich;[#] and that is a tale that is told of many caves; and it may be this, Calum, that all the great caves lead to that other world; but who can tell about such fearful things? A cock crowing—that is nothing—when you are in your own home, with the daylight around you; but to hear the crowing of a cock after you have gone away into the earth, then that tells you of wonderful things, for you know the saying, 'Deep is the low of a cow upon strange pasture.' Well, well, what the master says must be done; but many's the time I am wishing that when the kegs have to be hidden, it was some other place we had for the hiding of them than the Cave of the Crowing Cock."