Colum went slowly back to the brethren, brooding deep. “God is good,” he said in a low voice, again and again; and each time that he spoke there came a fair sweet daisy into the grass, or a yellow bird rose up, with song to it for the first time wonderful and sweet to hear.
As he drew near to the House of God he met Murtagh, an old monk of the ancient old race of the isles.
“Who is Kirsteen McVurich, Murtagh?” he asked.
“She was a good servant of Christ, she was, in the south isles, O Colum, till Black Angus won her to the sea.”
“And when was that?”
“Nigh upon a thousand years ago.”
At that Colum stared in amaze. But Murtagh was a man of truth, nor did he speak in allegories. “Ay, Colum, my father, nigh upon a thousand years ago.”
“But can mortal sin live as long as that?”
“Ay, it endureth. Long, long ago, before Oisìn sang, before Fionn, before Cuchullin was a glorious great prince, and in the days when the Tuatha-De Danànn were sole lords in all green Banba, Black Angus made the woman Kirsteen McVurich leave the place of prayer and go down to the sea-shore, and there he leaped upon her and made her his prey, and she followed him into the sea.”
“And is death above her now?”