At that Black Angus laughed.
“Why is there laughter upon you, Man-Seal?”
“Well, it is because of the good company I’ll be having. But, now, give me the word: are you for having seen or heard aught of a woman called Kirsteen McVurich?”
“Kirsteen—Kirsteen—that is the good name of a nun it is, and no sea-wanton!”
“Oh, a name here or a name there is soft sand. And so you cannot be for telling me where my woman is?”
“No.”
“Then a stake for your belly, and the nails through your hands, thirst on your tongue, and the corbies at your eyne!”
And, with that, Black Angus louped into the green water, and the hoarse wild laugh of him sprang into the air and fell dead against the cliff like a wind-spent mew.
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.