"That is what I know well!" said Calum, confidently. "How many days is it since you stood up against the French skipper, and he with four of them at his back?"

"Ay, but there are things that are more terrible than blows; and it is of these that I am afraid. Or perhaps not quite afraid; but I think. And that is the difference between one man and another man, Calum. There is always ill-luck happening; but one man will suffer it and not inquire, while the other man will ask what caused it or who it was that did him the harm. And if it is not always prudent to speak of such affairs, at least the truth is the safest: you know the saying 'Speak the truth as if you were in the presence of kings.' And now I will tell you this, Calum, of a strange thing that happened to me when I was a boy."

He abated his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. Calum's eyes 'glowered' in the dusk.

"I had been over to Ru-Gobhar, where I had a sister married then; and I was returning home. It was a moonlight night; the sea very calm; there was no wind. Well, when I was at the highest point of the road, above the Black Bay, do you know what happened? But I will tell you what happened. And this is what I saw: the sea began to move, although there was not a breath of wind, and there was no noise either; only it moved and heaved in a terrible way; and there was a line of white, but it was more like white fire than white foam, all along the land, from Ru-Gobhar in to Minard, and all round the headlands to where I was. For I was standing looking, and very much afraid to see so strange a thing; and then this is what happened: I got to know that there was someone behind me; and then I got to know it was the Woman, and I durst not look round, for I was shaking with terror. May you never have such an experience in your life, Calum, as was mine that night. I knew that she had come across the sea, from the islands, noticing that I was alone and no one to help me; and now I knew that she was not only behind me, but in front of me, and all around me, though I could not see anything, for I was in such terror. She did not speak to me, nor touch me; but I felt myself choking at the throat as if she had a grip of me; and I gave myself up for dead—for I could not run away from her—and I knew it was the Woman who had a grip of my throat. Well, well, I gave myself up for dead; but all of a sudden it entered my mind that she would carry me away out to the islands and bury me in one of the caves; and with that I made a great effort, and cried out 'God on the cross, save me, save me!' That was the last I knew of it; when I came to myself I was lying in the road, cold as a stone; and the sea was quite smooth again. May you never have an experience like my experience of that night, Calurn!"

Calum was silent for a little while. Then he said, slowly—

"Coinneach, do you suppose the Woman came from the cave where the cock was heard crowing?"

"How can I tell?" was the answer. "Perhaps I have said too much. But what I have said to you, that is the least part of what happened to me that night, for it is not to be spoken of." And then he rose; and put his pipe in his pocket. "Come, Calum, my son, we must take the boat ashore now, for the master will be coming down to the slip. But do not you speak of such things as I have told you; for it is not good to speak of them."

And to this Calum merely replied—

"What the master wishes is enough for you and me, Coinneach; but I would rather not be going into the Uamh coilich na glaodhaich this night."

They rowed the boat in to the shore—they could see their way well enough, for now the heavens were quite clear, and a universe of white worlds was shining down on them; and there they ran her bow into the soft seaweed by the side of the slip. They had not long to wait. There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-path; then from out of the shadow emerged a figure into the open space above the beach; they knew who this was. Young Ross of Heimra seemed to be in no great hurry; his hands were in his pockets; he came down towards the boat with long, lounging, leisurely strides; and he was whistling a gay air that was unfamiliar to them—for Coinneach and Calum could hardly be expected to recognise 'La Noce de Jeanne.'