But to a mind otherwise concerned limitless are the perspectives that open out. There can be little doubt, for example, but that Druidism and Christianity meet here, as the story of Oran so searchingly illustrates. When Columba and his brethren started building their first chapel they found that the walls were always being overthrown by an evil spirit. In his perplexity, it was revealed to Columba that a last sacrifice must be made. And then it was that Oran came forward and offered to be buried alive.

But at the end of three days, Columba, troubled in his soul, thought he would like to see how things were going with Oran, so he caused the grave to be opened: whereupon Oran promptly sat up and began to speak heresies, and, in particular, the heresy that Hell is not ‘as it is said’. Which was a nasty thrust at the priestcraft, and, lest he reveal still more heretical things, Columba had him covered up again at once. ‘Earth, earth on Oran’s eye, lest he further blab,’ became a proverb in due course.

Until the Synod of Argyll destroyed them, three globes of white marble lay in hollows on a stone slab beside St. Oran’s, and a visitor to the island had to turn the stones thrice sunwise—deisul (thus Druidically performing the rites of sun worship on the way to the worship of God). The slab (Clach Brath) is still there, with the hollows upon it, and until quite recent times the natives used to turn three ordinary stone balls in the hollows three times deisul, for luck, every time they passed. But these later stones have gone too.

Leaving Reilig Orain, we decided to go into the grounds of the cathedral, and into the cathedral itself, for I wanted to verify what was a first impression by more exact observation; and in any case it should be a good place to rest for a little before returning to face our troubles.

But we found the outer gate locked and the walls surmounted by barbed wire. Though we could have overleapt these obstacles, we could also see that the door of the cathedral itself was locked. Just inside the gate was the box into which on our first visit the Crew had dropped her shilling for the restoration work. It was a small but very solid box, heavily padlocked. It looked as if Argyll’s Church of Scotland had less faith in all the moderns than Columba in his savages and barbarians. Thus if the Mate did not see the flowers and the light on the stone, neither did he see the great marble effigies, so doubtless there is a compensating balance in things. And, after all, there was nothing to be seen that was authentically Columban, unless indeed the stone that was reputed to have been Columba’s pillow, now locked in its little iron cage.

As we came down through the fields, the Crew was resting with her milkpail in a fragrant spot. I glanced away at the sea, and the heavy mood descended darkly, because the Mate had to get to Oban and now I could not take him there. Faith does not help when it comes to mechanism.