“Little black beast,” he said to the fly that droned its drowsy hum and moved not at all; “little black beast, sure it is well I am knowing what you are. You are thinking you are going to get my blessing, you that have come out of hell for the soul of me!”
At that the fly flew heavily from the wall, and slowly circled round and round the head of Colum the White.
“What think you of that, brother Oran, brother Keir?” he asked in a low voice, hoarse because of his long fast and the weariness that was upon him.
“It is a fiend,” said Oran.
“It is an angel,” said Keir.
Thereupon the fly settled upon the wall again, and again droned his drowsy hot hum.
“Little black beast,” said Colum, with the frown coming down into his eyes, “is it for peace you are here, or for sin? Answer, I conjure you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!”
“An ainm an Athar, ’s an Mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh,” repeated Oran below his breath.
“An ainm an Athar, ’s an Mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh,” repeated Keir below his breath.
Then the fly that was upon the wall flew up to the roof and circled to and fro. And it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this: