Rory, poor blind beast, came wearily and with a low whine to his side, and then lay down before the warm blaze.
“Bring the Book,” he said to me.
I brought the great leather-bound Gaelic Bible, and laid it on his knees.
He placed his hand in it, and opened at random.
“With Himself be the word,” he said.
“Is it Peace?” asked Aunt Elspeth in a tremulous whisper.
“It is Peace,” he answered, his voice gentle, his face stern as a graven rock. And what he read was this, where his eye chanced upon as he opened at the place where is the Book of the Vision of Nahum the Elkoshite:
“What do ye imagine against the Lord? He will make a full end.”
After that there was a silence. Then he rose, and told me to go and lie down and sleep; for, on the morrow, after dawn, I was to go with him to where Muireall was.