“Come, my lord abbot, let us then go together.”

Then some men removed the heavy stones from the gate and the abbot and his aged companion went forth to meet the advancing forces.

Now as Roderic, at the head of his army, marched upon St. Blane’s he could see nothing of the defences that had been prepared.  All was in appearance peaceful as it had been when as an innocent boy this pirate chief had gone in the early mornings to say mass with the good friars.  Above the abbey the swallows lightly flew.  The blue hills of Arran were calm and grand.  The seagulls floated in mid-air above the sea, and the autumn trees waved their golden clusters in the breeze.  From the chimneys of the abbey a thin film of smoke told only of peace.

There was nothing to show that within the small space between him and Garroch Head were collected together many hundreds of islanders with anxiously beating hearts —­ islanders whose happy homes had been laid waste, and who now dreaded the moment that might bring their death.  Two figures alone could Roderic see.  These were the abbot Godfrey and the old crone Elspeth Blackfell.

As the Norsemen advanced with clashing arms and regular tread the abbot looked up in seeming surprise, as though his meditations had been suddenly disturbed.  Then he paused in his walk and turned to meet the dreaded foe.  Elspeth followed him.

With loud voice Roderic called out to his men to halt.  Then alone he went forward.

“What means all this that I see?” began the abbot with trembling voice, “and how comes it, Roderic MacAlpin, that I behold you here in Bute with all this strange following?  Infamous man!  Did you not but twelve short months ago solemnly swear before God that you would not set foot upon these shores again ere you had spent three years of penance in the service of the Most High.  How come you here?”

Then Roderic smiled in derision.

“How came I here?  And wherefore should I come if not to claim mine own?  Wherefore should I come if not to destroy the young cub Kenric, who hath cruelly murdered many scores of innocent dwellers in the isles.  Mine own have I already regained, for I have planted my banner upon the towers of Rothesay, and no man on earth shall now rob me of what I have so hardly conquered.  Two other things remain; and then I go to make further conquests for my sovereign king.  I shall have young Kenric’s blood, and I shall have my full revenge for the injuries he has done to the people of Colonsay.  And now, my father, you will go down upon your knees before me —­ for I am now your lord and king and will be obeyed —­ and you shall tell me truly where this young whelp Kenric is to be found, that I may slay him.”

“Earl Kenric of Bute shall never be slain by you, Roderic MacAlpin,” said Elspeth.  “For though you follow him over half the world, as you followed Rapp the Icelander, yet shall you never draw one drop of blood from that brave youth’s body!”