The Funeral, XI

Each left the corpse, save that dark man Cormac, from Aberlady’s shore, Who, deem’d a cunning artisan, Had left Kilspindie’s cells at dawn, Yet landed not till twilight hour. Two black-hoods follow’d in his train, Like shadows on the rock, Who only deign’d to breathe amen! As low their master spoke: “Refugium peccatorum, “Consolatrix afflictorum, “Ora pro nobis.”