He had crossed to Fanad to be present at the wake of my poor mother, who, I heard, had died long before my father and Mr Gorman could reach her yesterday.

She was to be buried, they told me, on the next day at Kilgorman; and I could guess why there was all this haste.

My father was needed to steer the _Cigale_ out of the lough, and his honour would be keen enough to get the funeral over for that reason.
With a very heavy heart I left the weary horse in the stable and betook myself to his honour's harbour.

Only one boat lay there, a little one with a clumsy lug-sail, ill-enough fitted for a treacherous lough like the Swilly.

I knew her of old, however, and was soon bounding over the waves, with the dim outline of Fanad standing out ahead in the moonlight.
My heart sank to my boots as I drew nearer and discerned an unusual glow of light from the cabin window, and heard, carried across the water on the breeze, the sounds of singing and the wail of a fiddle.