“And as he spoke the flap of Thora’s tent was raised and out into the moonlight strode the old Swede. She was the great Norse type⁠—tall, deep-breasted, moulded on the old Viking lines. Her sixty years had slipped from her. She looked like some ancient priestess of Odin.

“She stood there, her eyes wide, brilliant, staring. She thrust her head forward toward Nan-Tauach, regarding the moving lights; she listened. Suddenly she raised her arms and made a curious gesture to the moon. It was⁠—an archaic⁠—movement; she seemed to drag it from remote antiquity⁠—yet in it was a strange suggestion of power. Twice she repeated this gesture and⁠—the tinklings died away! She turned to us.

“ ‘Go!’ she said, and her voice seemed to come from far distances. ‘Go from here⁠—and quickly! Go while you may. It has called⁠—’ She pointed to the islet. ‘It knows you are here. It waits!’ she wailed. ‘It beckons⁠—the⁠—the⁠—’

“She fell at Edith’s feet, and over the lagoon came again the tinklings, now with a quicker note of jubilance⁠—almost of triumph.