"'Saw me first, Marsail?'
"'Ay, you and Alan MacAlasdair.'
"'When and where was this sight upon you that you speak of?'
"'It was one month before you and he came to Rona.'
"This startled me, and I asked her to tell me her meaning. At first, I could make little of what was said, for she muttered low, and moved her head idly this way and that; moaning in her pain. But on my taking her hand, she looked at me again; and then, apparently without an effort, told me this thing:
"'On the seventh day of the month before you came—and by the same token it was on the seventh day of the month following that you and Alan MacAlasdair came to Caisteal-Rhona—I was upon the shore at Aonaig, listening to the crying of the wind against the great precipice of Biolacreag. With me were Roderick Macrea and Neil MacNeill, Morag MacNeill, and her sister Elsa; and we were singing the hymn for those who were out on the wild sea that was roaring white against the cliffs of Berneray; for some of our people were there, and we feared for them. Sometimes one sang, and sometimes another. And sure, it is remembering I am, how, when I had called out with my old wailing voice:
"'Boidh an Tri-aon leinn, a la 's a dh-oidche;
'S air chul nan tonn, no air thaobh nam beann.
[Be the Three-in-One with us day and night;
On the crested wave, when waves run high.]