He gloomed at her silently. Then in a constrained voice, and with averted eyes:
"How should I know? I know nothing. I am Nial."
"But what have you been told?"
"They call her the wood-maid—the tree-maid."
"Ah-h! ... and Nial...."
"But when I came near, the curlew flew away. Then it was that I looked into the pool. And then, and then it was, Oona-mo-rùn, that I saw my soul lying here—big as a man's soul should be, and with a face as white as yours; ay, a fair, good body like Alan's, an' with clothes on, too—dark, beautiful clothes; an' the hands of him that moved about were white; an' ... oh, Oona-birdeen, look you now, and see if it is not as I say!"
The awed child stared into the brown depths, where the surface was still ruffled silvery here and there, with a glinting, glancing shimmer that made all things below shiftily uncertain.
"Do you see it, Oona?" cried an eager whisper at her ear.
"Ay, sure."
"Oona, Oona, is it dead? Oona, birdeen, Oona-mo-gràidh, it may—it may be living! O Oona, the white soul o' me—white as you, my fawn!"