With that she placed in his hand a slip of paper whereon she had already written certain words. What they were, Alan could not discern in that shadowy light; but, taking the slip in his hand, he stepped on the black ledges at the base of the Altar, and slowly mounted the precipitous rock.
Ynys watched him till he became himself a shadow in that darkness. Her heart leaped when suddenly she heard a cry fall to her out of the gloom.
"Alan, Alan!" she cried, and a great fear was upon her when no answer came; but at last, with passionate relief, she heard him clambering slowly down the perilous slope of that obscure place. When he reached the ledge, he stood still, regarding her.
"Why do you not come into the boat, Alan?" she asked.
"Dear, I have that to tell you which will let you see that I spoke truth."
She looked at him with parted lips, her breath coming and going like that of a caged bird.
"What is it, Alan?" she whispered.
"Ynys, when I reached the top of the Altar, and in the dim light that was there, I saw the dead body of a man lying upon the rock. His head was lain back so that the gleam from a crevice in the cliff overhead fell upon it. The man has been dead many hours. He is a man whose hair has been grayed by years and sorrow, but the man is he who is of my blood; he whom I resemble so closely; he that the fishermen call aonaran nan chreag; he that is the Herdsman."
Ynys made no reply; still she looked at him with large, wondering eyes.
"Ynys, darling, do you not understand what it is that I say? This man, that they call the Buchaille Bàn—this man whom you believe to be the Herdsman of the old legend—is no other than Donnacha Bàn, he who years and years ago slew his brother and has been an exile ever since on this lonely island. How could he, then, a man as I am, though with upon him a worse blood-shadow than lies upon us—how could he tell you aught of what is to be? What message could he give you that is himself a lost soul?