Thereat Ardan the Pict bowed his head, and in a loud voice repeated—
“Sìth (shee)! An ainm an Athar, ’s an mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh!”
And to this day the song of the Birds of Colum, as they are called in Hy, is Sìth—Sìth—Sìth—an—ainm—Chriosd——
“Peace—Peace—Peace—in the name of Christ!”
[II]
THE SABBATH OF THE FISHES AND THE FLIES
For three days Colum had fasted, save for a mouthful of meal at dawn, a piece of rye-bread at noon, and a mouthful of dulse and spring-water at sundown. On the night of the third day, Oran and Keir came to him in his cell. Colum was on his knees, lost in prayer. There was no sound there, save the faint whispered muttering of his lips, and on the plastered wall the weary buzzing of a fly.
“Master!” said Oran in a low voice, soft with pity and awe, “Master!”
But Colum took no notice. His lips still moved, and the tangled hairs below his nether lip shivered with his failing breath.
“Father!” said Keir, tender as a woman, “Father!”
Colum did not turn his eyes from the wall. The fly droned his drowsy hum upon the rough plaster. It crawled wearily for a space, then stopped. The slow hot drone filled the cell.