“And who is it that will be making that strange music?”
“What music?”
“Sure, it has stopped now, but I heard it clear, and so did Anndra MacEwan. It was like the sound of a reed-pipe, and the tune was an eerie one at that.”
“It was the Dance of the Dead.”
“And who will be playing that?” asked the man, with fear in his eyes.
“No living man.”
“No living man?”
“No. I’m thinking it will be one of my brothers who was drowned here, and by the same token that it is Gloom, for he played upon the feadan; but if not, then … then …”
The two men waited in breathless silence, each trembling with superstitious fear; but at last the elder made a sign to Achanna to finish.