And yet it was but a short distance from where they camped that the
angels first put foot to earth.
It is useless to question what turmoil of wind or vagary of wing brought
them to this desert hill instead of to a place more worthy of their
grandeur, for, indeed, they were gorgeously apparelled in silken robes
of scarlet and gold and purple; upon their heads were crowns high in
form and of curious, intricate workmanship, and their wings, stretching
ten feet on either side, were of many and shining colours.
Enough that here they did land, and in this silence and darkness they
stood for a few moments looking about them.
Then one spoke:
"Art," said he, "we were too busy coming down to look about us
carefully; spring up again a little way, and see if there is any house
in sight."
At the word one of the three stepped forward a pace, and leaped twenty
feet into the air; his great wings swung out as he leaped, they beat
twice, and he went circling the hill in steady, noiseless flight.
He returned in a minute:
"There are no houses here, but a little way below I saw a fire and two
people sitting beside it."
"We will talk to them," said the other. "Show the way, Art."
"Up then," said Art.
"No," said the Angel who had not yet spoken. "I am tired of flying. We
will walk to this place you speak of."
"Very well," replied Art, "let us walk."
And they went forward.
* * * * *
Around the little bucket of fire where Mac Cann and his daughter were
sitting there was an intense darkness. At the distance of six feet they
could still see, but delicately, indistinctly, and beyond that the night
hung like a velvet curtain. They did not mind the night, they did not
fear it, they did not look at it: it was around them, full of
strangeness, full of mystery and terror, but they looked only at the
glowing brazier, and in the red cheer of that they were content.
They had eaten the bread and the turnip, and were waiting for the
potatoes to be cooked, and as they waited an odd phrase, an exclamation,
a sigh would pass from one to the other; and then, suddenly, the dark
curtain of night moved noiselessly, and the three angels stepped nobly
in the firelight.
For an instant neither Mac Cann nor his daughter made a movement; they
did not make a sound. Here was terror, and astonishment the sister of
terror: they gaped: their whole being was in their eyes as they stared.
From Mac Cann's throat came a noise; it had no grammatical significance,
but it was weighted with all the sense that is in a dog's growl or a
wolf's cry. Then the youngest of the strangers came forward:
"May we sit by your fire for a little time?" said he. "The night is
cold, and in this darkness one does not know where to go."
At the sound of words Patsy seized hold of his sliding civilization.
"To be sure," he stammered. "Why wouldn't your honour sit down? There
isn't a seat, but you're welcome to the grass and the light of the
fire."
"Mary," he continued, looking hastily around--
But Mary was not there. The same instant those tall forms strode from
the darkness in front Mary had slipped, swift and noiseless as the
shadow of a cat, into the darkness behind her.
"Mary," said her father again, "these are decent people, I'm thinking.
Let you come from wherever you are, for I'm sure they wouldn't hurt
yourself or myself."
As swiftly as she had disappeared she reappeared.
"I was looking if the ass was all right," said she sullenly.
She sat again by the brazier, and began to turn the potatoes with a
stick. She did not appear to be taking any heed of the strangers, but it
is likely that she was able to see them without looking, because, as is
well known, women and birds are able to see without turning their heads,
and that is indeed a necessary provision, for they are both surrounded
by enemies.