“Well, so be it. To each his fate. But, seal or no seal, I am going to wed Mànus MacCodrum, who is a man as good as any here, and a true man at that, and the man I love, and that will be my man, God willing, the praise be His!”
Again Gloom took up the feadan, and sent a few cold white notes floating through the hot room, breaking suddenly into the wild fantastic opening air of the Dàn-nan-Ròn.
With a low cry and passionate gesture Anne sprang forward, snatched the oat-flute from his grasp, and would have thrown it in the fire. Marcus held her in an iron grip, however.
“Don’t you be minding Gloom, Anne,” he said quietly, as he took the feadan from her hand, and handed it to his brother; “sure, he’s only telling you in his way what I am telling you in mine.”
She shook herself free, and moved to the other side of the table. On the opposite wall hung the dirk which had belonged to old Achanna. This she unfastened. Holding it in her right hand, she faced the three men.
“On the cross of the dirk I swear I will be the woman of Mànus MacCodrum.”
The brothers made no response. They looked at her fixedly.
“And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if any man come between me and Mànus, this dirk will be for his remembering in a certain hour of the day of the days.”
As she spoke, she looked meaningly at Gloom, whom she feared more than Marcus or Sheumais.
“And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if evil come to Mànus, this dirk will have another sheath, and that will be my milkless breast: and by that token I now throw the old sheath in the fire.”