or a moment you'd think she hadn't heard. Then--a strange thing--a wee
smile came on her face, and suddenly it changed to a queer twist, all
over the face of her. Then she stood up proudly and looked out to sea
... and two tears came to the eyes of her and she raised her head higher
still.... The tears came in spite of her ... and suddenly she gave a wee
gulp like a person who's sick.... And she turned and began to stumble
away in the sand.... A couple of the young ones went as if to help her,
but she turned.

"'Please,' was all she said. And she went off on her lee lone.

"And then says Hughie Rafferty: 'The tide will bring him to Cushendall.'

"And at Cushendall next day we found the corp. There wasn't a mark on
him. Even the things of the deep water had respect for Alan Doon."

"What was this woman like, Simon Fraser? This woman there was talk of
Alan Donn marrying?"

"This woman was not a woman of Alan Donn's age. An' she was not a young
woman. Her face was showing not the face of a girl but the face of
herself. She had a proud face and a brave face. This woman would be
around twenty-five.

"She was a brown woman: she had brown eyes and brown hair. She was not
an Irishwoman. She was an Englishwoman. She had no Gaelic. And her
English was not our English. This woman could ride a horse, though not
too well. She would put a horse at a jump, though she was afeared of it.

"This woman had money. She was a niece of the admiral's, and she was on
a long visit to the admiral's house.

"I've heard tell a queer thing about this woman. She would play at the
piano for hours on a stretch, reading from a book. For hours she would
play, all by herself. The people passing the road and the servant girls
of the house couldn't make head or tail of her music. But our folk ken
nothing of the piano. The pipes, the melodeon, the fiddle, they know
that--and a few ould ones have heard the harp. They couldn't tell
whether it was good music or bad music was in it.

"There's another queer thing about this woman. When she walked you'd
think she was dancing. Not our reels or hornpipes, but queer ould dances
you'd be walking to, not stepping. She had wee feet, though she was not
a small woman.

"Your uncle Alan's dogs took to this woman, and you ken how Alan's
terriers had little liking for any but his ain sel'. I was told also to
tell you that she had the dogs, and that they were comfortable, and
would be well looked after. So that you