And so saying he turned away.

“A murrain on you and your cattle,” growled Allan.

And then he began to pace his rounds, leaving the cake of bread and the flagon of posset by the gate of the sheepfold.

Not long had he been thus engaged when the heavy dew made him feel cold, and he took a good drink of the posset.  This mixture of strong wine and curdled milk made him strangely sleepy, whereupon, defying the law and David Blair together, he rolled himself up in his plaid and lay down upon the heather, to think of King Alexander and Queen Margaret and of battling Norsemen.  The sound of the waves breaking upon the beach, and the sighing of the night wind among the neighbouring fir trees, soon lulled him into a heavy sleep.

It might be that he had slept full four hours when, feeling something cold against his cheek, he wakened with a start and sprang to his feet.  There was a sharp yelp as of a frightened dog, and he heard the movement of footsteps upon the heather.  Then the footsteps stopped and he saw the staring eyes of a wolf glaring at him through the black darkness.

Grasping his sword, Allan bounded off in pursuit.  The wolf trotted away at an easy pace towards the woodland.  Then as Allan approached nearer, off again it sped, leading him deep into a quiet dingle to the east of Loch Quien.  But at each time the animal paused Allan came nearer and nearer than before, until at last it seemed that he had come within striking distance of the brute.  He had not his bow with him, or he might have made short work of the wolf.  But he did not shrink from a close encounter.

As he heard the low snarling growl before him he raised his weapon, swinging it round to strike.  Lightly the wolf sprang aside and the sword blade whizzed through the air, striking nothing.  And ere Allan, expecting to find the animal lying dead at his feet, could well understand how he had missed his aim, the wolf had bounded off and was lost in the darkness.

Then Allan rubbed his drowsy eyes and questioned if he had not been dreaming.  But suddenly from behind him there came through the still air a strange, weird, human voice that startled him more than the sight of any wild animal might have done.

“Allan Redmain,” it said hurriedly, “is this you?”

“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Allan, turning round, “who spoke?”

And against the darkness of the tree trunks he again saw two shining eyes, on a level with his own, and scarce a couple of yards’ distance away from him.

Now, whether it was that those eyes but reflected the wan light of dawn that was breaking above the eastern hills, or that they did indeed shine red and green by turns as did the eyes of the wolf, may not be told.  But Allan shrank back at sight of them with a gruesome fear at his heart.

“Hush, hush!” said the voice in a whisper that was scarcely louder than the sighing of the wind among the trees.  “It is I, Aasta of Kilmory.”