now; the peace has come; the misery is over; there is only the
quiet sound of the waves. But you, Donald, come here. Put down your
pipes, and listen. Do you remember the English lady who was here in the
summer-time; and your pipes were too loud for her, and were taken away?
She is coming again. She will try to put her foot on my grave. But you
will watch for her coming, Donald; and you will go quickly to Hamish;
and Hamish will go down to the shore and send her back. You are only a
boy, Donald; she would not heed you; and the ladies at the Castle are
too gentle, and would give her fair words; but Hamish is not afraid of
her--he will drive her back; she shall not put her foot on my grave, for
my heart can bear no more pain.

* * * * *

And are you going away--_Rose-leaf_--_Rose-leaf_--are you sailing away
from me on the smooth waters to the South? I put out my hand to you; but
you are afraid of the hard hands of the Northern people, and you shrink
from me. Do you think we would harm you, then, that you tremble so? The
savage days are gone. Come--we will show you the beautiful islands in
the summer-time; and you will take high courage, and become yourself a
Macleod; and all the people will be proud to hear of Fionaghal, the Fair
Stranger, who has come to make her home among us. Oh, our hands are
gentle enough when it is a Rose-leaf they have to touch. There was blood
on them in the old days; we have washed it off now: see--this beautiful
red rose you have given me is not afraid of rough hands! We have no
beautiful roses to give you, but we will give you a piece of white
heather, and that will secure to you peace and rest and a happy heart
all your days. You will not touch it, sweetheart? Do not be afraid!
There is no adder in it. But if you were to find, now, a white adder,
would you know what to do with it? There was a sweetheart in an old song
knew what to do with an adder. Do you know the song? The young man goes
back to his home, and he says to his mother, "Oh make my bed soon; for
I'm weary, weary hunting, and fain would lie doon." Why do you turn so
pale, sweetheart? There is the whiteness of a white adder in your
cheeks; and your eyes--there is death in your eyes! "Donald!--Hamish!
help! help!--her foot is coming near to my grave!--my heart--!"

* * * * *

And so, in a paroxysm of wild terror and pain, he awoke again; and
behold, the ghastly white day