"O Skilly Woman, Skilly Woman, it's late we are," said Black Murdo.
"Late enough, as ye say, just man. Had ye bartered an old sword for twenty minutes on the Tom-an-dearc, I was here before danger."
Then the Skilly Woman set him on the wet windy side of the door, and went about with busy hands.
The man, with the ragged edge of his kilt scraping his knees and the rain bubbling in his brogues, leaned against the wattled door and smeared the blood from his brow. A cold wind gulped down from Glenurchy and ghosts were over Inishail. The blast whirled about and whirled about, and swung the rowan like a fern, and whistled in the gall, and tore the thatch, all to drown a child's cry. The blackness crowded close round like a wall, and flapped above like a plaid--Stronbuie was in a tent and out of the world. Murdo strained to hear a voice, but the wind had the better of him. He went round to the gable, thinking to listen at the window, but the board on the inside shut the wind and him out. The strange emptiness of grief was in his belly.
Inside, the Skilly One went like a witch, beak-nosed and half-blind. There was clatter of pans and the dash of water, the greeting of the child and the moan of the mother. What else is no man's business. For all she was skilly the old dame had no thought of the woman sinking.
"You'll have blithe-meat in the morning," she said, cheerily, from the fireside.
"Such a boy, white love! And hair like the copper! His hide is mottled like a trout's back; calf of my heart!"
Silis, on her side, put out white craving arms. "Give it to me, wife; give it to me."
"Wheesht! rest ye, dear, rest ye," said the Skilly Dame.
But she put the bairn in its mother's arms. Silis, when she had it on her breast, sobbed till the bed shook.
"Is not he the hero, darling?" said the Skilly Woman. "It's easy seen he's off Clan Diarmaid on one side, for all that yoar hair is black as the sloe. Look at the colour of him!"
Fright was in the mother's face. "Come close, come close till I tell you," she said, her long hair damp on her milky shoulders.
The Skilly Woman put down her head and listened with wonder.
"Me-the-day! Was I not the blind one to miss it? His name, white love? No one shall ken it from me, not even Murdo."