"'Findings are keepings,' said he loudly, and he closed his mouth and

stared very impertinently at the judge.

"'It is to be given up,' said the judge.

"'Let them come and take it from me,' said the seraph Cuchulain. And

suddenly (for these things are at the will of spirits) around his head

the lightnings span, and his hands were on the necks of thunders.

"For the second time in his life Rhadamanthus was disturbed, again he

scratched his head:

"'It's a fix,' said he moodily. But in a moment he called to those whose

duty it was:

"'Take him to this side,' he roared.

"And they advanced. But the seraph Cuchulain swung to meet them, and his

golden hair blazed and shrieked; and the thunders rolled at his feet,

and about him a bright network that hissed and stung--and those who

advanced turned haltingly backwards and ran screaming.

"'It's a fix,' said Rhadamanthus; and for a little time he stared

menacingly at the seraph Cuchulain.

"But only for a little time. Suddenly he put his hands on the rests of

his throne and heaved upwards his terrific bulk. Never before had

Rhadamanthus stood from his ordained chair. He strode mightily forward

and in an instant had quelled that rebel. The thunders and lightnings

were but moonbeams and dew on that stony carcass. He seized the seraph

Cuchulain, lifted him to his breast as one lifts a sparrow, and tramped

back with him:

"'Fetch me that other,' said he sternly, and he sat down.

"Those whose duty it was sped swiftly downwards to find Brien of the

O'Brien nation; and while they were gone, all in vain the seraph

Cuchulain crushed flamy barbs against that bosom of doom. Now, indeed,

his golden locks were drooping and his plumes were broken and tossed;

but his fierce eye still glared courageously against the nipple of

Rhadamanthus.

"Soon they brought Brien. He was a sight of woe--howling, naked as a

tree in winter, black as a tarred wall, carved and gashed, tattered in

all but his throat, wherewith, until one's ears rebelled, he bawled his

one demand.

"But the sudden light struck him to a wondering silence, and the sight

of the judge holding the seraph Cuchulain like a limp flower to his

breast held him gaping.

"'Bring him here,' said Rhadamanthus.

"And they brought him to the steps of the throne.

"'You have lost a medal!' said Rhadamanthus. 'This one has it.'

"Brien looked straitly at the seraph Cuchulain.

"Rhadamanthus stood again, whirled his arm in an enormous arc, jerked,

and let go, and the seraph Cuchulain went swirling through space like a

slung stone.

"'Go after him, Kerryman' said Rhadamanthus, stooping; and he seized

Brien by the leg, whirled him wide and out and far; dizzy, dizzy as a

swooping comet, and down, and down, and down.

"Rhadamanthus seated himself. He motioned with his hand.

"'Next,' said he coldly.

"Down went the seraph Cuchulain, swirling in wide tumbles, scarcely

visible for quickness. Sometimes, with outstretched hands, he was a

cross that dropped plumb. Anon, head urgently downwards, he dived

steeply. Again, like a living hoop, head and heels together, he spun

giddily. Blind, deaf, dumb, breathless, mindless; and behind him Brien

of the O'Brien nation came pelting and whizzing.

"What of that journey? Who could give it words? Of the suns that

appeared and disappeared like winkling eyes. Comets that shone for an

instant, went black and vanished. Moons that came, and stood, and were

gone. And around all, including all, boundless space, boundless silence;

the black unmoving void--the deep, unending quietude, through which they

fell with Saturn and Orion, and mildly-smiling Venus, and the fair,

stark-naked moon, and the decent earth wreathed in pearl and blue. From

afar she appeared, the quiet one, all lonely in the void. As sudden as a

fair face in a crowded street. Beautiful as the sound of falling waters.

Beautiful as the sound of music in a silence. Like a white sail on a

windy sea. Like a green tree in a solitary place. Chaste and wonderful

she appeared. Flying afar. Flying aloft like a joyous bird when the

morning breaks on the darkness and he shrills sweet tidings. She soared

and sang. Gently she sang to timid pipes and flutes of tender straw and

murmuring, distant strings. A song that grew and swelled, gathering to a

multitudinous, deep-thundered harmony, until the overburdened ear failed

before the appalling uproar of her ecstasy, and denounced her. No longer

a star! No longer a bird! A plumed and horned fury! Gigantic, gigantic,

leaping and shrieking tempestuously, spouting whirlwinds of lightning,

tearing gluttonously along her path, avid, rampant, howling with rage

and terror she leaped, dreadfully she leaped and flew....

* * * * *

"Enough! They hit the earth--they were not smashed, there was that

virtue in them. They hit the ground just outside the village of

Donnybrook where the back road runs to the hills; and scarcely had they

bumped twice when Brien of the O'Brien nation had the seraph Cuchulain

by the throat.

"'My threepenny-bit,' he roared, with one fist up.

"But the seraph Cuchulain only laughed:

"'That!' said he. 'Look at me, man. Your little medal dropped far beyond

the rings of Saturn.'

"And Brien stood back looking at him--He was as naked as Brien was. He

was as naked as a stone, or an eel, or a pot, or a new-born babe. He was

very naked.

"So Brien of the O'Brien nation strode across the path and sat down by

the side of a hedge:

"'The first man that passes this way,' said he, 'will give me his

clothes, or I'll strangle him.'

"The seraph Cuchulain walked over to him:

"'I will take the clothes of the second man that passes,' said he, and

he sat down."

CHAPTER XXVI

"And then," said Mac Cann thoughtfully, "we came along, and they stole

our clothes."

"That wasn't a bad tale," he continued to Caeltia. "You are as good a

story-teller, mister, as the man himself," pointing to Billy the Music.

Billy replied modestly:

"It's because the stories were good ones that they were well told, for

that's not my trade, and what wonder would it be if I made a botch of

it? I'm a musician myself, as I told you, and there's my instrument, but

I knew an old man in Connaught one time, and he was a great lad for the

stories. He used to make his money at it, and if that man was to break

off in the middle of a tale the people would stand up and kill him, they

would so. He was a gifted man, for he would tell you a story about

nothing at all, and you'd listen to him with your mouth open and you

afraid that he would come to the end of it soon, and maybe it would be

nothing more than the tale of how a white hen laid a brown egg. He would

tell you a thing you knew all your life, and you would think it was a

new thing. There was no old age in that man's mind, and that's the

secret of story-telling."

Said Mary:

"I could listen to a story for a day and a night."

Her father nodded acquiescence:

"So could I, if it was a good story and well told, and I would be ready

to listen to another one after that."

He turned to Art:

"You were saying yourself, sonny, that there was a story in your head,

and if that's so, now is your chance to tell it; but I'm doubting you'll

be able to do it as well as the two men here, for you are a youngster,

and story-telling is an old man's trade."

"I'll do my best," said Art, "but I never told a story in my life, and

it may not be a good one at the first attempt."

"That's all right," replied Mac Cann encouragingly. "We won't be hard on

you."

"Sure enough," said Billy the Music, "and you've listened to the lot of

us, so you will know the road."

"What are you going to talk about?" said Caeltia.

"I'm going to talk about Brien O'Brien, the same as the rest of you."

"Did you know him too?" cried Billy.

"I did."

"There isn't a person doesn't know that man," growled Patsy. "Maybe,"

and he grinned ferociously as he said it, "maybe we'll meet him on the

road and he tramping, and perhaps he will tell us a story himself."

"That man could not tell a story," Finaun interrupted, "for he has no

memory, and that is a thing a good story-teller ought to have."

"If we meet him," said Mac Cann grimly, "I'll do something to him and

he'll remember it, and it's likely that he will be able to make a story

out of it too."

"I only saw him once," said Art, "but when Rhadamanthus tossed him

through the void I recognised his face, although so long a time had

elapsed since I did see him. He is now less than he was, but he is,

nevertheless, much more than I had expected he would be."

"What is he now?" said Billy the Music.

"He is a man."

"We are all that," said Patsy, "and it isn't any trouble to us."

"It was more trouble than you imagine," said Finaun.

"I had expected him to be no more than one of the higher animals, or

even that he might have been dissipated completely from existence."

"What was he at the time you met him?"

"He was a magician, and he was one of the most powerful magicians that

ever lived. He was a being of the fifth round, and he had discovered

many secrets."

"I have known magicians," commented Finaun, "and I always found that

they were fools."

"Brien O'Brien destroyed himself," Art continued, "he forfeited his

evolution and added treble to his karmic burden because he had not got a

sense of humour."

"No magician has a sense of humour," remarked Finaun, "he could not be a

magician if he had--Humour is the health of the mind."

"That," Art broke in, "is one of the things he said to me. So you see he

had discovered something. He was very near to being a wise man. He was

certainly a courageous man, or, perhaps, foolhardy; but he was as

serious as a fog, and he could not bring himself to believe it."

"Tell us the story," said Caeltia.

"Here it is," said Art.

CHAPTER XXVII

"On a day long ago I laboured with the Army of the Voice. The first

syllable of the great word had been uttered, and in far eastern space,

beyond seven of the flaming wheels, I and the six sons drew the lives

together and held them for the whirlwind which is the one. We were

waiting for the second syllable to form the wind.

"As I stood by my place holding the north in quietness, I felt a strong

vibration between my hands. Something was interfering with me. I could

not let go, but I looked behind me, and there I saw a man standing, and

he was weaving spells.

"It was a short, dark man with a little bristle of black whisker on his

chin and a stiff bristle of black hair on his head. He was standing

inside a double triangle having the points upwards, and there were

magical signs at each point of the triangles. While I looked, he threw

around him from side to side a flaming circle, and then he threw a

flaming circle about him from front to back, and he span these so

quickly that he was surrounded by a wall of fire.

"At him, on the instant, I charged a bolt, but it could not penetrate

his circles; it hit them and fell harmless, for the circles had a

greater speed than my thunderbolt.

"He stood so in the triangles, laughing at me and scratching his chin.

"I dared not loose my hands again lest the labour of a cycle should be

dissipated in an instant, and it was no use shouting to the others, for

they also were holding the lives in readiness for the whirlwind which

would shape them to a globe, so the man had me at his mercy.

"He was working against my grip, and he had amazing power. He had

somehow discovered part of the first syllable of the great word, and he

was intoning this on me between giggles, but he could not destroy us,

for together we were equal to the number of that syllable.

"When I looked at him again he laughed at me, and what he said

astonished me greatly.

"'This,' said he, 'is very funny.'

"I made no reply to him, being intent only on holding my grip; but I was

reassured, for, although he poured on me incessantly the great sound,

its effect was neutralised, for I am a number, and in totality we were

the numbers; nevertheless the substance did strain and heave so

powerfully that I could do no more than hold it in place.

"The man spoke to me again. Said he:

"'Do you not think that this is very funny?'

"I made no answer for a time, and then I said:

"'Who are you?'

"'A name,' he replied, 'is a power; I won't give you my name although I

would like to, for this is a great deed and a funny one.'

"'What is your planet?' quoth I.

"'I won't tell you that,' he replied; 'you might read my signs and come

after me later on.'

"I could not but admire the immense impertinence of his deed.

"'I know your sign,' said I, 'for you have already made it three times

with your hand, and there is only one planet of these systems which has

evolved the fifth race, so I know your planet. Your symbol is the Mule,

and Uriel is your Regent; he will be coming after you soon, so you had

better go away while you have time.'

"'If he comes,' said the man, 'I'll put him in a bottle, and I'll put

you in a bottle too. I won't go for another while, the joke is too good,

and this is only the commencement of it.'

"'You will be caught by the second syllable,' I warned him.

"'I'll put it in a bottle,' said he grinning at me. 'No,' he continued,

'I won't be caught, I've made my calculations, and it's not due yet a

while.'

"Again he poured on me the great sound until I rocked to and fro like a

bush in the wind; but he could not loose my grip, for I was a part of

the word.

"'Why are you doing this?' I asked him.

"'I'll tell you that,' he replied.

"'I am two things, and I am great in each of these two things. I am a

great magician, and I am a great humourist. Now, it is very easy to

prove that one is a magician, for one has only to do things and then

people are astonished; they are filled with fear and wonder; they fall

down and worship and call one god and master. But it is not so easy to

be a humourist, because in that case it is necessary to make people

laugh. If a man is to be a magician it is necessary, if his art is to be

appreciated, that the people around him be fools. If a person desires to

be a humourist it is necessary that the people around him shall be at

least as wise as he is, otherwise his humour will not be comprehended.

You see my predicament! and it is a cruel one, for I cannot forego

either of these ambitions--they are my karma. Laughter is purely an

intellectual quality, and in my planet I have no intellectual equals: my

jokes can only be enjoyed by myself, and it is of the essence of humour

that one share it, or it turns to ill-health and cynicism and mental

sourness. My humour cannot be shared with the people of my planet, for

they are all half a round beneath me--they can never see the joke, they

only see consequences, and these blind them to the rich drollery of any

affair, and render me discontented and angry. My humour is too great for

them, for it is not terrestrial but cosmic; it can only be appreciated

by the gods, therefore, I have come out here to seek my peers and to

have at least one hearty laugh with them.'

"'One must laugh,' he continued, 'for laughter is the health of the

mind, and I have not laughed for a crore of seasons.'

"Thereupon he took up the syllable and intoned its flooding sound so

that the matter beneath my hands strained against me almost unbearably.

"I turned my head and stared at the little man as he laughed happily to

himself and scraped his chin.

"'You are a fool,' said I to that man.

"The smile vanished from his face and a shade of dejection took its

place.

"'Is it possible, Regent, that you have no sense of humour!' said he.

"'This,' I replied, 'is not humorous; it is only a practical joke; it is

no more than incipient humour; there is no joke in it but only mischief,

for to interfere with work is the humour of a babe or a monkey. You are

a thoroughly serious person, and you will not make a joke in ten

eternities; that also is in your karma.'

"At these words his eyes brooded on me darkly, and an expression of real

malignancy came on his face: he stamped at me from the triangles and

hissed with rage.

"'I'll show you something else,' said he, 'and if it doesn't make you

laugh it will make everybody else who hears about it laugh for an age.'

"I saw that he was meditating a personal evil to me, but I was

powerless, for I could not let go my grip on the substance.

"He lifted his hands against me then, but, at the moment, there came a

sound, so low, so deep, it could scarcely be heard, and with equal

strong intensity the sound pervaded all the spaces and brooded in every

point and atom with its thrilling breath--we were about to shape to the

whirlwind.

"The man's hands fell, and he stared at me.

"'Oh!' said he, and he said 'Oh' three times in a whisper.

"The sound was the beginning of the second syllable.

"'I thought I had time,' he gasped: 'my calculations were wrong.'

"'The joke is against you,' said I to the man.

"'What will I do?' he screamed.

"'Laugh,' I replied, 'laugh at the joke.'

"Already his flying circles had ceased to revolve, and their broad flame

was no more than a blue flicker that disappeared even as I looked at

them. He stood only in the triangles, and he was open to my vengeance.

His staring, haggard eyes fell on the bolt in my hand.

"'There is no need for that,' said he, and he did speak with some small

dignity, 'I am caught by the sound, and there is an end to me.'

"And that was true, so I did not loose my bolt.

"Already his triangles were crumbling. He sank on his haunches, clasped

his hands about his legs and bowed his head on his knees. I could see

that he knew all was lost, and that he was making a last desperate

effort to guard his entity from dissolution, and he succeeded, for, one

instant before the triangles had disappeared, he had vanished, but he

could not have entirely escaped the sound, that was impossible, and if

he reached his planet it must have been as a life of the third round

instead of the fifth to which he had attained. He had the entire of his

evolution to perform over again and had, moreover, added weightily to

his karmic disabilities.

"I saw him no more, nor did I hear of him again until the day when Brien

O'Brien was thrown from the gates, and then I knew that he and O'Brien

were the same being, and that he had really escaped and was a fourth

round life of the lowest globe.

"Perhaps he will be heard of again, for he is an energetic and restless

being to whom an environment is an enemy and to whom humour is an

ambition and a mystery."

* * * * *

"That is the end of my story," said Art modestly.

Mac Cann regarded him indulgently from a cloud of smoke:

"It wasn't as good as the other ones," he remarked, "but that's not your

fault, and you're young into the bargain."

"He is not as young as he looks," remarked Finaun.

"A good story has to be about ordinary things," continued Patsy, "but

there isn't anybody could tell what your story was about."

Billy the Music here broke in:

"The person I would have liked to hear more of is Cuchulain, for he is

my own guardian angel and it's him I'm interested in. The next time I

meet him I'll ask him questions."

He glanced around the circle:

"Is there anybody would like to hear a tune on the concertina? I have it

by my hand here, and the evening is before us."

"You can play it for us the next time we meet," said Patsy, "for we are

all tired listening to the stories, and you are tired yourself."

He lifted to his feet then and yawned heartily with his arms at full

stretch and his fists clenched:

"We had better be moving," he continued, "for the evening is coming on

and it's twenty miles to the fair."

They harnessed the ass.

"I'm going the opposite way to you," said Billy the Music.

"All right," said Patsy. "God be with you, mister."

"God be with yourselves," replied Billy the Music.

He tramped off then in his own direction, while Mac Cann and his

companions took their road with the ass.

BOOK IV

MARY MAC CANN

CHAPTER XXVIII

The search for work and food led them back, but by different paths,

through Kerry, up into Connemara, and thence by stony regions to Donegal

again and the rugged hills.

Their days were uneventful but they were peaceful: their nights were

pleasant, and seldom did they lack for even one meal in the day. When

they did so lack they passed the unwelcome hour in the silence of those

to whom such an hiatus was not singular. Under Mac Cann's captaincy the

tiny band moved from meal to meal as another army would invest and sack

and depart from the cities on its route.

Sometimes at night a ballad-singer would stray on their road, an angry

man from whom no person had purchased songs for two days, and in return

for victual this one would entertain them with his lays and recite the

curses he had composed against those who did not pay the musician.

Sometimes they came on gatherings of tinkers and pedlars, tramps, and

trick-men, and in the midst of these they would journey towards a fair.

Uproarious nights then! Wild throats yelling at the stars and much loud

trampling on the roads as the women fought and screeched, and the men

howled criticism and encouragement, and came by mere criticism

themselves to the battle. Paltry onslaughts these, more of word than of

weapon to the fray that left some blooded noses and swollen lips as the

one hour memorial of their deeds.

And again the peaceful nights, the calm stars, the quiet moon strewing

her path in silver; space for the eye, the ear, and the soul; the

whispering of lovely trees; the unending rustle of the grass, and the

wind that came and went away and came, chanting its long rhythms or

hushing its chill lullaby by the fields and the hills.

On a day when they had finished eating Finaun beckoned Caeltia and Art

aside and they spoke closely together. Turning to Mac Cann and his

daughter Finaun said:

"We have finished what we came to do, my friends."

Patsy nodded frowningly at him.

"What was it you came to do?"

"I came to give help to the powers," said Finaun mildly.

"I didn't see you doing much," replied Patsy.

"And," Finaun continued smilingly, "the time has come for us to go

away."

"You're in a hurry, I suppose?"

"We are not in a great hurry, but the time has come for us to go back."

"Very well!" said Patsy. "We aren't so far from where we started. If we

take one of the turns on the right here and bear away to the west by

Cnuc-Mahon and Tober-Fola and Rath-Cormac we'll come to the place where

your things are buried, and then I suppose--we can get there in three

days, if that will do you?"

"That will do," said Finaun.

During the remainder of the day he and his companions walked together

talking among themselves while Mac Cann and his daughter went with the

ass.

Patsy also was preoccupied all that day and she had her own thoughts;

they scarcely spoke at all and the ass was bored.

At night they camped under a broken arch, the vestige of they knew not

what crumbled building, and, seated around the brazier, they sunk to

silence, each staring at the red glow and thinking according to their

need, and it was then that Art, lifting his eyes from the brazier,

looked for the first time at Mary and saw that she was beautiful.

She had been looking at him--that was now her one occupation. She

existed only in these surreptitious examinations. She dwelt on him

broodingly as a miser burns on his gold or a mother hovers hungrily upon

her infant, but he had never given her any heed. Now he was looking at

her, and across the brazier their eyes communed deeply.

There was birth already between them--sex was born, and something else

was shaping feebly to existence. Love, that protection and cherishing,

that total of life, the shy prince scarcely to be known among the

teeming populations of the world, raised languidly from enchanted sleep

a feeble hand.

What fire did their eyes utter! The quiet night became soundingly vocal.

Winged words were around her again as in that twilight when her heart

loosed its first trials of song. Though the night was about her black

and calm there was dawn and sunlight in her heart, and she bathed

herself deeply in the flame.

And he! There is no knowing but this, that his eyes poured soft fire,

enveloping, exhaustless. He surrounded her as with a sea. There she slid

and fell and disappeared, to find herself again, renewed, reborn,

thrilling to the embrace of those waters, wondrously alive and yet so

languid that she could not move. There she rocked like a boat on the

broad waves and, saving the limitless sea, there was nothing in sight.

Almost he even had disappeared from her view but not from her sensation:

he was an influence wide as the world, deep and steep and tremendous as

all space.

They were alone. The quiet men seated beside them thinned and faded and

disappeared: the night whisked from knowledge as a mounting plume of

smoke that eddies and is gone: the trees and the hills tripped softly

backwards and drooped away. Now they were in a world of their own,

microscopic, but intense: a sphere bounded by less than the stretching

of their arms: a circle of such violent movement that it was stationary

as a spinning-top, and her mind whirled to it, and was still from very

activity. She could not think, she could not try to think, that was her

stillness, but she could feel and that was her movement; she was no

longer a woman but a responsiveness: she was an universal contact

thrilling at every pore and point: she was surrendered and lost and

captured and no longer pertained to herself.

So much can the eye do when the gathered body peers meaningly through

its lens. They existed in each other: in and through each other: the

three feet of distance was no longer there: it had disappeared, and they

were one being swinging on league-long wings through vast spaces.

When they dropped to sleep it was merely a slipping backwards, a motion

that they did not feel: they were asleep before they dropped asleep:

they were asleep long before that, drugged and senseless with the strong

potion of the body, stronger than aught in the world but the sharp

essence of the mind that awakens all things and never permits them to be

lulled again.

* * * * *

When morning dawned and the camp awakened there was some little

confusion, for Mac Cann was not in the place where he had slept and they

could not imagine where he had gone to.

Mary discussed his disappearance in all kinds of terms, Caeltia alone,

with a downcast air, refusing to speak of it. They waited during hours

for him, but he did not return, and at noon they decided to wait no

longer but to go on their journey leaving him to catch on them if he was

behind or hoping to gain on him if he was in advance, for their route

was marked.

The angels did seem a trifle lost in his absence, and they looked with

some dubiety at Mary when she took charge of their journey and of the

daily provision of their food.

Food had to be gotten, and she had to discover it not alone for herself

but for these other mouths. It was the first time she had been alone

and, although her brows and lips were steady, her heart beat terror

through her body.

For she had to do two things which she had never done and had never

surmised really had to be done. She had to think, and she had to follow

her thought by doing the thing she thought of. Which of these two were

the more terrible she did not know, but there was no difficulty as to

which she must do first, the simple orderliness of logic clamoured that

she must think before she could do anything, and, so, her brain set to

the painful weaving of webs too flimsy at first for any usage; but on

this day she discovered where her head lay and how to use it without any

assistance. She had memory to work with also, the recollection of her

father's activities, and memory is knowledge; a well-packed head and

energy--that is the baggage for life, it is the baggage for eternity.

She moved to the head of the ass and pulled his ear to advance. Caeltia

and Finaun trod beside and they went forward. Behind came Art sniffing

with the hungriest of nostrils on the sunny air, for it was five hours

since they had eaten and more than three hours' abstinence was painful

to him.

CHAPTER XXIX

She did get food. She nourished her three children sumptuously, but she

made them help her to get it.

She looked at Finaun's high nose, his sweeping beard, his air as of a

good child well matured, and she sent it to the market:

"One must eat," said she.

When they came to a house by the roadside she ordered Finaun to the door

to ask for bread; he got it too and had eaten but the slowest mouthful

when she seized it from him and stocked it for the common good.

She charged Caeltia through the open door of a cottage, and his

expedition was famous for eight hours afterwards.

She performed feats herself in a fowl-house and a cattle-pen, but she

did not issue any commands to Art except at the falling-to, when he

obeyed adequately.

She recalled the deeds of her father in many predicaments, and for the

first time she really understood his ceaseless skill and activity. She

found too that she could recollect his tactics, beside which her own

were but childish blunderings, and, with that memory she mended her

hand, and life became the orderly progression which everybody expects it

to be.

That night by the glow of the brazier she rested a mind that had never

been weary before, and she craved for the presence of her father that

she might gain from him the praise which her present companions did not

know was due to her.

* * * * *

"Two days more," said her heart, communicating to her bitterly as they

proceeded on the morrow morning, but she banished the thought and set to

her plots and plans. She banished it, but it clung with her, vague and

weighty as a nightmare, and when she looked backwards on the road Art's

eyes were looking into hers with a quietness that almost drove her mad.

She could not understand him.

They had never spoken to each other; not once had they spoken directly

since that night when he stepped into the glow of the brazier. At first

she had fled from him in a fear which was all shyness and wildness, and

so an overlooking habit had been formed between them which he had never

sought to break, and which she did not know how to put an end to.

"Two days!" said her heart again, pealing it to her through her webs,

and again she exiled her heart, and could feel its wailing when she

could hear it no longer.

* * * * *

They stopped for the mid-day meal; bread and potatoes and a morsel of

cheese; the fare was plentiful, and from a stream near by good water

washed it down.

The reins of the donkey were thrown across the limb of a tree, and he

had liberty to browse in a circle. He also had his drink from the

running stream, and was glad of it.

As they sat three people marched the road behind them; they saw these

people, and studied their advance.

A talkative, a disorderly advance it was. An advance that halted every

few paces for parley, and moved on again like a battle.

Two men and a woman were in that party, and it did seem that they were

fighting every inch of their way. Certainly, they were laughing also,

for a harsh peal came creaking up the road, and came again. Once the

laugh broke abruptly on its gruff note as though a hand had pounded into

its middle. Then the party parleyed again and moved again.

What they said could not be distinguished, but the rumour of their

conversation might have been heard across the world. They bawled and

screamed, and always through the tumult came the gruff hoot of laughter.

Said Caeltia:

"Do you know these people?"

"The woman is Eileen Ni Cooley," replied Mary, "for I know her walk, but

I don't know the shape of the men."

Caeltia laughed quietly to himself.

"The taller of these men," said he, "is the Seraph Cuchulain, the other

man is that Brien O'Brien we were telling you of."

Mary's face flamed, but she made no remark.

In a few minutes these people drew near.

Eileen Ni Cooley was dishevelled. Her shawl hung only from one shoulder

and there were holes in it, her dress was tattered, and a long wisp of

red hair streamed behind her like a flame. Her face was red also, and

her eyes were anxious as they roved from one to the other.

She came directly to the girl and sat beside her; young Cuchulain set

himself down beside Art, but Brien O'Brien stood a few paces distant

with his fists thrust in his pockets and he chewing strongly on tobacco.

Every now and then he growled a harsh creak of a laugh and then covered

it ostentatiously with his hand.

"God be with you, Mary Ni Cahan," said Eileen Ni Cooley, and she twisted

up her flying hair and arranged her shawl.

"What's wrong with you?" said Mary.

"Where's your father?" said Eileen.

"I don't know where he is. When we lifted from sleep a morning ago he

wasn't in his place, and we haven't seen him since that time."

"What am I going to do at all?" said Eileen in a low voice. "These men

have me tormented the way I don't know how to manage."

"What could my father do?" said Mary sternly, "and you playing tricks on

him since the day you were born."

"That's between myself and him," replied Eileen, "and it doesn't matter

at all. I wanted your father to beat O'Brien for me, for he won't leave

me alone day or night, and I can't get away from him."

Mary leaned to her whispering:

"My father couldn't beat that man, for I saw the two of them fighting on

the Donnybrook Road, and he had no chance against him."

"He could beat him, indeed," said Eileen indignantly, "and I'd give him

good help myself."

"If my father owes you anything," said Mary, "I'm ready to pay it for

him, so let us both rise against the man, and maybe the pair of us would

make him fly."

Eileen stared at her.

"I hit him once," continued Mary, "and I would like well to hit him

again; my people here would keep his friend from joining against us."

The blue eyes of Eileen Ni Cooley shone with contentment; she slipped

the shawl from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

"We'll do that, Mary," said she, "and let us do it now."

So the women lifted to their feet and they walked towards Brien O'Brien,

and suddenly they leaped on him like a pair of panthers, and they leaped

so suddenly that he went down against the road with a great bump. But he

did not stay down.

He rose after one dumbfounded moment, and he played with the pair of

them the way a conjurer would play with two balls, so that the breath

went out of their bodies, and they had to sit down or suffocate.

"That's the kind of man he is," panted Eileen.

"Very well!" said Mary fiercely, "we'll try him again in a minute."

The camp was in confusion, and from that confusion Art leaped towards

Brien O'Brien, but the Seraph Cuchulain leaped and outleaped Art, and

set himself bristling by the elbow of his friend; then Caeltia, with his

face shining happily, tip-toed forward and ranged with Art against these

two, but Finaun went quicker than they all; he leaped between the

couples, and there was not a man of the four dared move against his

hand.

In a second that storm blew itself out, and they returned to their seats

smiling foolishly.

"Let the women be quiet," said Brien O'Brien harshly.

He also seated himself, with his back touching against the donkey's

legs.

The ass had finished eating and drinking, and was now searching the

horizon with the intent eye of one who does not see anything, but only

looks on the world without in order to focus steadily the world within.

Brien O'Brien stared with a new interest at Finaun, and revolved his

quid. Said he to Cuchulain:

"Would the old lad be able to treat us the way Rhadamanthus did, do you

think?"

"He could do that," laughed Cuchulain, "and he could do it easily."

O'Brien moved the quid to the other side of his jaw.

"If he slung us out of this place we wouldn't know where we might land,"

said he.

"That is so," replied Cuchulain, thrusting a sleek curl between his

teeth. "I don't know these regions, and I don't know where we might

land, or if we would ever land. Only for that I would go against him,"

and he waggled his finger comically at Finaun.

Art commenced to snigger and Finaun laughed heartily, but Caeltia eyed

Cuchulain so menacingly that the seraph kept a quiet regard on him for

the rest of the day.

Peace was restored, and while they were revolving peace and wondering

how to express it Patsy Mac Cann came on them from a side path that ran

narrowly between small hills.

CHAPTER XXX

When Mac Cann saw the visitors he halted for an instant and then came

forward very slowly, with his head on one side and his thumb rasping

steadily on his chin.

He was staring at Brien O'Brien, and as he stared he bristled like a

dog.

"It's the man himself," said he, "the man that stole my clothes."

O'Brien peeped upwards at him but did not move.

"Sit down and hold your prate," said he, "or I'll steal your life."

Mac Cann would have thrown himself on his enemy, but at that moment he

caught sight of Eileen Ni Cooley and her face drove the other out of his

head.

He stared.

"It's yourself!" said he.

"It is me, sure enough, Padraig."

"You'll be going away in a minute, I suppose," said he grimly.

He sat on the grass and there was peace once more. He was sitting beside

O'Brien, and the ass was still thinking deeply with his hocks touching

against their shoulder-blades.

When he seated himself they were all silent, for, in face of everything,

Mac Cann took the lead, and they waited for him to speak.

O'Brien was looking at him sideways with a grin on his hard jaw. He

creaked out a little laugh and then covered it up with his hand as one

who was abashed, but Mac Cann paid no attention to him.

His attention was on Eileen Ni Cooley.

"You're a great woman," said he, "and you're full of fun surely."

"I'm everything you like to call me," replied Eileen.

"Which of the men are you with this time, or are you travelling with the

pair of them?"

"I don't want either of them, Padraig, but I can't get away from them

anyhow. They won't let me go my own road, and they're marching at my

elbows for two days and two nights, cursing and kicking and making a

noise every step of the way."

"They're doing that!" said Patsy.

"They are doing that, Padraig. It's O'Brien is the worst, for the other

fellow is only helping him and doesn't care for me at all. Catching me

they do be, and holding me...."

"Aye!" said Patsy.

"I can't get away from O'Brien," said she, "and I thought that if I

could find yourself----"

"You were looking for me?"

"I was looking for you this time, Padraig."

"Aye!" said Patsy, and he turned a black eye on Brien O'Brien, and his

eye looked like a little, hard ball of stone.

"You'll be left alone from this day out," said Patsy.

"Mind yourself!" growled Brien O'Brien. "Mind yourself, my hardy man, or

you'll waken up among the spooks."

Patsy held him with that solid eye.

"Spooks!" said he, and suddenly he rolled on top of Brien O'Brien, his

left hand grabbing at the throat, his right fist jabbing viciously with

packed knuckles.

Down went Brien O'Brien's head and up went his heels; then he gave a

mighty wriggle and started to come up, his hands threshing like the

wings of a mill. As he came up they rolled, and now Mac Cann was below;

but Brien O'Brien's head had disturbed the donkey, and, without emerging

from cogitation, the ass let his two heels fly at the enemy of thought

behind him; Patsy saw for an instant the white flash of those little

hoofs across his face, but Brien of the O'Brien Nation took them full on

his forehead and his brows crackled in like the shell of an egg; he

relaxed, he sagged, he drooped and huddled limply to Patsy's bosom, and

for three seconds Mac Cann lay quietly beneath him, captured by

astonishment.

The donkey had again related the infinity without to the eternity

within, and his little hoofs were as peaceful as his mild eye.

Mac Cann tugged himself from beneath that weighty carcass and came to

his feet.

Mary and Eileen were both sitting rigid, with arms at full stretch and

their fingers tipping straitly on the ground, while their round eyes

were wide in an unwinking stare.

Caeltia was on his feet and was crouching at an equally crouching

Cuchulain. Patsy saw the curl jerking as the lips of the seraph laughed.

Art was frozen on one knee in the mid-act of rising, and Finaun was

combing his beard while he looked fixedly at Eileen Ni Cooley.

Twenty seconds only had elapsed since Mac Cann rolled sideways on Brien

O'Brien.

The seraph Cuchulain was staring under Caeltia's arm. He blew the golden

curl from his lips and sounded a laugh that was like the ringing of

silver bells.

"What will Rhadamanthus say this time?" quoth he, and with that he

turned and tripped happily down the road and away.

* * * * *

Mac Cann regarded the corpse.

"We had better bury the man," said he gloomily.

He took a short spade from the cart, and with it he made a hole in the

roadside.

They laid Brien O'Brien in that hole.

"Wait for a minute," said Mac Cann. "It's not decent to send him off

that way."

He pushed a hand into his pocket and pulled it out again with money in

it.

"He should have something with himself and he taking the long journey."

He lifted O'Brien's clenched fist, forced it open, and put a silver

threepenny-piece into it; then he tightened the pale hand again and

folded it with the other on his breast.

They wrapped a newspaper about his face, and they threw the clay over

Brien of the O'Brien Nation and stamped it down well with their feet,

and as they left him the twilight stole over the land, and a broad star

looked peacefully down through the grey distances.

CHAPTER XXXI

They walked through the evening.

Dusk had fallen and in the drowsy half-lights the world stretched itself

in peacefulness.

They had come to a flat country that whispered in grass; there were no

more of the little hills that roll and fall and roll; there were

scarcely any trees; here and there in great space a beech swung its slow

boughs and made a quiet noise in the stillness; here and there a stiff

tree lifted its lonely greenness, and around it the vast horizon

stretched away and away to sightlessness.

There was silence here, there was deep silence, and over all the dusk

drowsed and folded and increased.

With what slow veils the darkness deepened! the gentle weaver spun her

thin webs and drooped soft coverings from the sky to the clay; momently

the stars came flashing their tiny signals, gathering their bright hosts

by lonely clusters, and one thin sickle of the moon grew from a cloud

and stood distantly as a sign of gold.

But the quiet beauty of the heavens and the quiet falling to sleep of

the earth had for this night no effect on one of our travellers.

Mac Cann was ill at ease. He was moody and irritable, and he moved from

Eileen Ni Cooley to his daughter and back again to Eileen Ni Cooley and

could not content himself with either of them.

The angels were treading at the rear of the cart talking among

themselves; the slow drone of their voices drifted up the road, and from

this murmuring the words God and Beauty and Love would detach themselves

and sing recurringly on the air like incantations.

Eileen Ni Cooley trod on the left side of the ass. She trod like a

featureless shade; her shawl wrapped blottingly about her face and her

mind moving within herself and for herself.

Mac Cann and his daughter went together by the right side of the donkey,

and, as he looked constantly at his daughter, his eyes were furtive and

cunning.

He tapped her elbow.

"Mary," he whispered, "I want to talk to you."

She replied in a voice that was low from his contact.

"I want to talk to yourself," said she.

"What do you want to say?"

"I want to know where you got the money that I saw in your hand when you

buried the man?"

"That's what I'm going to tell you about," he whispered. "Be listening

to me now and don't make any noise."

"I'm listening to you," said Mary.

"What have we got to do with these lads behind us?" said Patsy urgently.

"They are nothing to us at all, and I'm tired of them."

"There's a thing to say!" quoth she.

"This is what we'll do. To-night we won't unyoke the ass, and when they

are well asleep we'll walk quietly off with ourselves and leave them

there. Eileen Ni Cooley will come with us and in the morning we'll be

distant."

"I won't do that," said Mary.

He darted at her a sparkle of rage.

"You'll do what I say, you strap, or it'll be the worse for you!" said

his violent whisper.

"I won't do that," she hissed, "and I tell you I won't."

"By the living Jingo...!" said Patsy.

She came at him whispering with equal fierceness.

"What have you done on the men?" said she. "What did you do on them that

you want to run away from them in the night?"

"Keep your tongue in your teeth, you----!"

"Where were you for a day and a half? Where did you get the money from

that I saw in your hand when you buried the man?"

Patsy composed himself with difficulty; he licked his dry lips.

"There's no fooling you, alannah, and I'll tell you the truth."

He glanced cautiously to where the others were coming deep in talk.

"This is what I did. I went to that place by Ard-Martin where we buried

the things, and I dug them up."

"Oh!" said Mary.

"I dug them up, and I took them away, and I sold them to a man for

money."

"Oh!" said Mary.

"They're sold, do you hear? And there's no going back on it; so do what

I tell you about the ass this night and we'll take our own road from now

on."

"I won't do it," whispered Mary, and she was almost speechless with

rage.

Mac Cann thrust his face close to hers grinning like a madman.

"You won't do it!" said he. "What will you do then against your father?"

"I'll go on to the place with the men," she stammered.

"You'll come with me this night."

"I'll not go," said she harshly.

"You'll come with me this night," said he.

"I'll not go," she screamed at him.

At the sound of her scream everybody came running to them.

"Is there anything wrong?" said Art.

"She's only laughing at a joke I told her," said Patsy. "Make that ass

go on, Mary a grah, for it's walking as if it was going asleep."

Caeltia was looking at Mac Cann so fixedly, with such a severe gravity

of eye, that the blood of the man turned to water and he could scarcely

hold himself upright. For the first time in his life Mac Cann knew what

fear was.

"To-morrow," said Caeltia, "we will be going away from you, let us be

peaceful then for our last night together."

"Aye," said Patsy, "let us be comfortable for this night of all nights."

He turned away, and with a great effort at carelessness he moved to the

donkey's head.

"Come on, Mary," said he.

Eileen Ni Cooley trod beside him for a moment.

"What's wrong with you, Padraig?" said she.

"Nothing at all, Eileen, just leave me alone for a minute for I want to

talk to the girl."

"You can count on me for anything, Padraig."

"I don't know whether I can or not," he muttered savagely. "Keep quiet

for ten minutes, in the name of God."

For a few dull seconds they paced in quiet. Patsy moistened his lips

with his tongue.

"What are you going to do, Mary?"

"I don't know," she replied. "What man did you sell the things to?"

"I sold them to a man that lives near by--a rich man in a big house."

"There's only one big house about here."

"That's the house."

She was silent.

"If you're going to tell the men," said her father, "give me two hours'

law this night until I get away, and then you can tell them and be

damned to you."

"Listen to me!" said the girl.

"I'm listening."

"There is only one thing to be done, and it has got to be done at once:

go you to the place of that rich man and take the things away from his

house and bury them back again in the place they were buried. If you

want any help I'll go with you myself."

Mac Cann's thumb wandered to his chin and a sound as of filing was heard

while he rubbed it. His voice was quite changed as he replied:

"Begor!" said he.

"You're full of fun," said he, thoughtfully. He covered his mouth with

his hand then and stared thoughtfully down the road.

"Will you do that?" said Mary.

He thumped a hand heavily on her shoulder.

"I will so, and I do wonder that I didn't think of it myself, for it's

the thing that ought to be done."

And now as they marched the atmosphere had changed; there was once more

peace or the precursor of it; from Mac Cann a tempered happiness

radiated as of old: he looked abroad without misgiving and he looked at

his daughter with the cynical kindliness habitual to him. They trod so

for a little time arranging their thoughts, then:

"We are near enough to that house to be far enough from it if there's

any reason to be far," said Mac Cann, "so this is what I say, let us

stop where we are for the night and in the morning we'll go on from

here."

"Very well," said Mary, "let us stop here."

Her father drew the ass to the side of the road and there halted it.

"We'll go to bed now," he shouted to the company, and they all agreed to

that.

"I'm going to unyoke the beast," said Mary with a steady eye on her

father.

He replied heartily.

"Why wouldn't you do that? Let him out to get something to eat like the

rest of us."

"There isn't any water," he complained a minute later. "What will that

animal do? and what will we do ourselves?"

"I have two big bottles of water in the cart," said Mary.

"And I have a little bottle in my pocket," said he, "so we're all

right."

The donkey was unyoked, and he went at once to stand with his feet in

the wet grass. He remained so for a long time without eating, but he did

eat when that idea occurred to him.

The brazier was lit, the sacks strewn on the ground, and they sat about

the fire in their accustomed places and ate their food. After a smoke

and a little conversation each person stretched backwards, covering

themselves with other sacks, and they went heartily to sleep.

"We will have to be up early in the morning," was Patsy's last remark,

"for you are in a hurry to get back your things," and saying so he

stretched his length with the others.

* * * * *

When a still hour had drifted by Mary raised cautiously and tip-toed to

her father. As she stood by him he slid the sacks aside and came to his

feet, and they moved a little way down the road.

"Now," said Mary, "you can do what you said you'd do."

"I'll do that," said he.

"And get back as quick as you can."

"It's a distance there and back again. I'll be here in the morning, but

I'll be late."

"Bury the things the way they were before."

"That's all right," and he moved a step backwards.

"Father!" said Mary softly.

He returned to her.

"What more do you want?" said he impatiently.

She put her arms about his neck.

"What the devil are you doing?" said he in astonishment, and he tried to

wriggle loose from her.

But she did not say another word, and after a moment he put his own arms

about her with a grunt and held her tightly.

"I'm away now," said he, and, moving against the darkness, he

disappeared.

For half a minute the sound of his feet was heard, and then the darkness

covered him.

Mary returned to her place by the brazier. She stretched close to Eileen

Ni Cooley and lay staring at the moving clouds.

In a few minutes she was asleep, although she had not felt any heaviness

on her eyes.

CHAPTER XXXII

No one was awake.

In the brazier a faint glow peeped from the white turf-ash; the earth

seemed to be holding its breath, so still it was; the clouds hung

immovably each in its place; a solitary tree near by folded its wide

limbs into the darkness and made no sound.

Nothing stirred in the world but the ass as he lifted his head slowly

and drooped it again; his feet were sunken in a plot of grass and he was

quiet as the earth.

Then I came softly, and I spoke to the ass in the darkness.

"Little ass," quoth I, "how is everything with you?"

"Everything is very well," said the ass.

"Little ass," said I, "tell me what you do be thinking of when you fix

your eye on vacancy and stare there for a long time?"

"I do be thinking," said the ass, "of my companions, and sometimes I do

be looking at them."

"Who are your companions?"

"Last night I saw the Cyclops striding across a hill; there were forty

of them, and each man was forty feet high; they had only one eye in

their heads and they looked through that; they looked through it the way

a fire stares through a hole and they could see well."

"How do you know they could see well?"

"One of them saw me and he called out to the others; they did not wait,

but he waited for a moment; he took me in his arms and he stroked my

head; then he put me on the ground and went away, and in ten strides he

crossed over the mountain."

"That was a good sight to see!"

"That was a good sight."

"Tell me something else you saw."

"I saw seven girls in a meadow and they were playing together; when they

were tired playing they lay on the grass and they went to sleep; I drew

near and stretched beside them on the grass, and I watched them for a

long time; but when they awakened they disappeared into the air and were

gone like puffs of smoke.

"I saw the fairy host marching through a valley in the hills; wide,

silken banners were flying above their heads; some had long swords in

their hands and some had musical instruments, and there were others who

carried a golden apple in their hands, and others again with silver

lilies and cups of heavy silver; they were beautiful and proud and they

marched courageously; they marched past me for three gay hours while I

stood on the slope of a hill.

"I saw three centaurs riding out of a wood; they raced round and round

me shouting and waving their hands; one of them leaned his elbows on my

back, and they talked of a place in the middle of a forest; they pelted

me with tufts of grass; then they went by a narrow path into the wood,

and they rode away.

"I saw a herd of wild asses in a plain; men were creeping around them in

the long grass, but the asses ran suddenly, and they killed the men with

their hoofs and their teeth; I galloped in the middle of them for half a

night, but I remembered Mary Ni Cahan, and when I remembered her I

turned from all my companions and I galloped home again."

"Those were all good sights to see!"

"They were all good sights."

"Good-bye, little ass," said I.

"Good-bye, you," said he.

He lay along the grass then and he closed his eyes, but I turned back

and crouched by the brazier, watching the people while they slept, and

staring often into the darkness to see did anything stir before the

light came.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Mac Cann strode through the darkness for a little time, but when he

found himself at sufficient distance from the camp he began to run.

There was not very much time wherein to do all that he had engaged

before the morning dawned, and so he took to this mode of activity,

which was not one for which he had any reverence. He was a heavy man and

did not run with either grace or ease, but he could hasten his movements

to a jog-trot, and, as his physical condition was perfect, he could

continue such a trot until hunger brought it to a halt, for he was never

fatigued, being as strong and tireless as a bear.

He was the most simple-minded of men. When he was engaged in one affair

he could not meddle with anything else, and now that he was running he

could do nothing but run--he could not think, for instance. When it was

necessary to think he would either walk very slowly or stand

stock-still, and then he would think with great speed and with great

simplicity. His head bade his legs be quiet while it was occupied, and,

when they were in motion, his legs tramped hush to his head, which

obeyed instantly; and he was so well organised on these lines that there

was never any quarrel between the extremities.

It was, therefore, the emptiest of men that now pounded the road. He

would deal with an emergency when it was visible, but until then he

snapped a finger and forgot it, for he had learned that the first word

of an emergency is a warning, the second a direction for escape, its

third utterance is in action, and it will only be waited for by a fool.

Exactly what he would do when he arrived at the house he did not know,

and as yet he made no effort to deal with that problem: he obeyed the

prime logical necessity, which was to get there: once there and the

second step would push itself against him, and from that cause the most

orderly of results would ensue. If there was no trouble he would succeed

in his enterprise; if there was trouble he would fly--that was his

simple programme.

And meantime there was nothing in the world but darkness and the

rhythmic tramping of his feet. These, with a faintly hushing wind, kept

his ears occupied. He had much of the cat's facility for seeing in the

dark, and he had the sense of direction which some birds have, so he

made good progress.

After half an hour's steady movement he came to the house for which he

was seeking, and halted there.

It was a long, low building, standing back from the road. There was a

stone wall around this house, and the entrance was by an iron gate.

Mac Cann touched the gate, for experience had taught him that gates are

not always locked, but this one was locked securely. By the gate was a

caretaker's lodge, so he moved quietly from that place and walked by the

wall.

There was glass on the top of the wall which halted him for a few

moments while he sucked his incautious hand. To cope with this he

gathered several large stones and placed them on top of each other and

he stood on these, then he threw his coat and waistcoat over the glass

and climbed easily across.

He was in a shrubbery. About him every few paces were short, stiff

bushes, some of which were armed with spines, which did their duty on

his hands and the legs of his trousers; but he regarded these with an

inattention which must have disgusted them. He tip-toed among these

guardians and was shortly free of them and on a gravel pathway. Crossing

this he came on quiet flower-beds, which he skirted: the house was now

visible as a dark mass distant some hundred yards.

Saving for one window the place was entirely dark, and it was towards

that window he directed his careful steps.

"It's better to look at something than at nothing," quoth he.

He was again on a gravel path, and the stones tried to crunch and

wriggle under his feet, but he did not allow that to happen.

He came to the window and, standing well to the side, peeped in.

He saw a square room furnished as a library. The entire section of the

walls which he could spy was covered from floor to ceiling with books.

There were volumes of every size, every shape, every colour. There were

long, narrow books that held themselves like grenadiers at stiff

attention. There were short, fat books that stood solidly like aldermen

who were going to make speeches and were ashamed but not frightened.

There were mediocre books bearing themselves with the carelessness of

folk who are never looked at and have consequently no shyness. There

were solemn books that seemed to be feeling for their spectacles; and

there were tattered, important books that had got dirty because they

took snuff, and were tattered because they had been crossed in love and

had never married afterwards. There were prim, ancient tomes that were

certainly ashamed of their heroines and utterly unable to obtain a

divorce from the hussies; and there were lean, rakish volumes that

leaned carelessly, or perhaps it was with studied elegance, against

their neighbours, murmuring in affected tones, "All heroines are

charming to us."

In the centre of the room was a heavy, black table, and upon the highly

polished surface of this a yellow light fell from globes on the ceiling.

At this table a man was seated, and he was staring at his hands. He was

a man of about thirty years of age. A tall, slender man with a lean

face, and, to Patsy, he was of an appalling cleanliness--a cleanliness

really to make one shudder: he was shaved to the last closeness; he was

washed to the ultimate rub; on him both soap and water had wrought their

utmost, and could have no further ambitions; his wristlets gleamed like

snow on a tree, and his collar rose upon a black coat as the plumage of

a swan emerges spotlessly from water.

His cleanliness was a sight to terrify any tramp, but it only angered

Mac Cann, who was not liable to terror of anything but hunger.

"I would like to give you a thump on the head, you dirty dog!" said

Patsy, breathing fiercely against the corner of the window-pane, and his

use of the adjective was singular as showing in what strange ways

extremes can meet.

This was the man to whom he had sold the gear of his companions: an

indelicate business indeed, and one which the cleanliness of the

purchaser assisted him to rectify, and it was in this room that the

barter had been conducted. By craning his neck a little he could see an

oaken settle, and upon this his sacks were lying with their mouths open

and the gleaming cloths flooding at the entry.

While he stared, the man removed his fingers from his eyes and put them

in his pocket, then he arose very slowly and paced thoughtfully towards

the window.

Mac Cann immediately ducked beneath the window-ledge. He heard the

window opened and knew the man was leaning his elbows on the sill while

he stared into the darkness.

"Begor!" said Patsy to himself, and he flattened his body against the

wall.

After a time, which felt longer than it could have been, he heard the

man moving away, and he then popped up and again peeped through the

window.

The man had opened the door of the room which faced the window and was

standing in the entry. Now his hands were clasped behind his back, his

head was sunken forward, and he seemed to be looking at his feet, which

is the habit of many men when they think, for when the eyes touch the

feet a circuit is formed and one's entire body is able to think at ease.

Suddenly the man stepped into a black corridor and he disappeared. Mac

Cann heard about ten steps ringing from a solid flooring, then he

heard a door open and shut, then he heard nothing but the shifting and

rubbing of his own clothes and the sound his own nose made when he

breathed outwards: there was a leathern belt about his middle, and

from the noise which it made one would have fancied that it was woven

of thunders--there was a great silence; the lighted room was both

inviting and terrifying, for it was even more silent than the world

outside; the steady globes stared at the window like the eyes of a mad

fish, and one could imagine that the room had pricked up invisible

ears and was listening towards the window, and one could imagine also

that the room would squeak and wail if any person were to come through

anywhere but a door and stand in it.

Mac Cann did not imagine any of these things. He spat on his hands, and

in the twinkling of an eye he was inside the window. In three long and

hasty paces he placed a hand on each of the sacks, and just as he

gripped them he heard a door opening, and he heard the footsteps ringing

again on a solid flooring.

"I'm in," said he, viciously, "and I won't go out."

His eyes blinked around like the flash of lightning but there was no

place to hide. He stepped across the oaken chest and crouched down.

Behind him, from the floor upwards, were books, in front was the big

chest, and on top of it the two bulging sacks. He was well screened and

he could peep between the sacks.

He stared towards the door.

The clean man came in and stood aside. Following him came a woman who

was, if anything, more rigorously washed than he was. Somehow, although

she was a tall woman, she seemed as light as a feather. She was clad in

a delicate pink gown of such gossamer quality that it balanced and swam

on the air with every movement she made. Across her bare shoulders was a

lawn veiling, which also sailed and billowed as she moved. Her hair

seemed to be of the finest spun gold, light as thistle-down, and it,

too, waved and floated in little strands and ringlets.

These two people sat down at different sides of the table, and for a

time they did not speak to each other. Then the man raised his head:

"I got a letter from your mother this morning," said he in a low voice.

The woman answered him in a tone that was equally low:

"I did not know you corresponded with her."

The man made a slight gesture:

"Nor did I know that your correspondence was as peculiar as I have found

it," said he.

Said the woman coldly:

"You are opening this subject again."

"I am: I have to: your mother confirms everything that I have charged

you with."

"My mother hates me," said the woman, "she would confirm anything that

was said of me, if it was bad enough."

"She is your mother."

"Oh no, she is not! When I ceased to be a child she ceased to be a

mother. We are only two women who are so well acquainted that we can be

enemies without any shame of each other."

"Are you not talking nonsense?"

"I have committed a crime against her. She will never forgive me for

being younger than she is, and for being pretty in her own fashion. She

left my father because he said I was good-looking."

"All that...!" said the man with a movement of his shoulder.

"As to what she would do against me, you should know it well enough

considering the things she told you before we were married."

"You admitted that they were not all lies."

"Some of the facts were true, all of the colouring was false--they are

the things a loving mother says about her daughter! but that is an old

story now, or I had fancied so."

"One forgets the old story until the new story drags it to memory," said

he.

She also moved her shoulders slightly.

"I begin to find these conversations tiresome."

"I can understand that.... With her letter your mother enclosed some

other letters from her friends--they insist on the facts, and add

others."

"Are they letters, or copies of letters?"

"They are copies."

"Of course my mother has forbidden you to disclose the fact that she

forwarded her friends' private correspondence to you."

"Naturally."

"Very naturally; the reason being that she wrote these letters herself

to herself. There are no originals of these copies."

"Again you are talking nonsense."

"I know her better than you do, better than she knows herself."

There was silence between them again for a few moments, and again it was

broken by the man.

"There are some things I cannot do," said he, and paused:

"I cannot search in unclean places for unclean information," he

continued, and again the silence fell between these two people.

She could bear that silence, but he could not:

"You do not say anything!" said he.

"This seems to be so entirely your business," was her quiet reply.

He moved a hand at that:

"You cannot divorce yourself from me with such ease. This is our

business, and we must settle it between us."

Her hand was resting on the table, and suddenly he reached to her and

laid his own hand on hers. She did not withdraw, but the stiffening of

her body was more than withdrawal. He drew his hand away again.

"We are reasonable creatures and must question our difficulties," said

he gently, "we must even help each other to resolve them."

"These difficulties are not of my making."

"They are, and you are lying to me shamelessly."

Again between these people a silence fell which was profound but not

quiet. That soundlessness was tingling with sound; there were screams

latent in it; it was atrocious and terrifying. The man's hand was

pressed against his forehead and his eyes were closed, but what he was

looking at was known only to himself in the silence of his being. The

woman sat upright an arm's-length from him, and although her eyes were

wide and calm, she also was regarding that which was free within

herself, and very visible to her.

"There are things I cannot do," said the man, emerging as with an effort

from subterranean caves and secret prospects. He continued speaking,

calmly but tonelessly:

"I have striven to make a rule of life for myself and to follow it, but

I have not sought to impose my laws on any one else--not on you,

certainly. Still there are elementary duties which we owe to one another

and which cannot be renounced by either of us. There is a personal, I

might say, a domestic loyalty expected by each of us...."

"I expect nothing," said she.

"I exact nothing," said the man, "but I expect that--I expect it as I

expect air for my lungs and stability under my feet. You must not

withdraw that from me. You are not the individual you think; you are a

member of society, and you live by it; you are a member of my household,

and you live by it."

She turned her face to him but not her eyes.

"I do not ask anything from you," said she, "and I have accepted as

little as was possible."

He clenched his hand on the table, but when he spoke his voice was

without emphasis:

"That is part of my grievance against you. Life is to give and take

without any weighing of the gifts. You will do neither, and yet our

circumstances are such that we must accommodate each other whether we

will or not."

"I am an exact man," he continued, "perhaps you find that trying, but I

cannot live in doubt. Whatever happens to hinder or assist my

consciousness must be known to me. It is a law of my being: it is my

ancestral heritage, and I have no command over it."

"I also," said she coldly, "am an heir of the ages, and must take my

bequests whether I like them or not."

"I love you," said the man, "and I have proved it many times. I am not

demonstrative, and I am shy of this fashion of speech. Perhaps that

shyness of speech is responsible for more than is apparent to either of

us in a world eager for speech and gesture, but I say the word now in

all sincerity, with a gravity, perhaps, which you find repulsive. Be at

least as honest with me, no matter how cruel you are. I cannot live in

the half-knowledge which is jealousy. It tears my heart. It makes me

unfit for thought, for life, for sleep, even for death. I must know, or

I am a madman and no man any longer, a wild beast that will bite itself

in despair of hurting its enemy."

The woman's tongue slipped over her pale lips in a quick, red flash.

"Have you anything to say to me?" said he.

There was no reply.

He insisted:

"Are the statements in your mother's letter true?"

"My mother's letter!" said she.

"Have I reason for this jealousy?" he breathed.

Her reply was also but a breathing:

"I will not tell you anything," said she.

Once again the silence drowsed and droned between the two people, and

again they repaired to the secret places of their souls where energy was

sucked from them until they existed only in a torpor. The woman rose

languidly from her chair, and, after an instant, the man stood also.

Said he:

"I will leave here in the morning."

"You will let me see the boy," she murmured.

"If," said he, "I ever learn that you have spoken to the boy I will kill

you, and I will kill the boy."

The woman went out then, and her feet tapped lightly along the corridor.

The man turned down the lights in the yellow globes and stepped to the

door; his footsteps also died away in the darkness, but in a different

direction.

* * * * *

Mac Cann stood up:

"Begor!" said he, stretching his cramped knees.

About him was a great darkness and a great silence, and the air of that

room was more unpleasant than any atmosphere he had ever breathed. But

he had the nerves of a bear and a resolute adherence to his own

business, so the excitement of another person could only disturb him for

a moment. Still, he did not like the room, and he made all haste to get

out of it.

He lifted the sacks, stepped carefully to the window, and dropped them

out. Then he climbed through and picked them up.

In five minutes he was on the road again. Along it for some dozen yards

he trod like a great cat until he had left the gate-keeper's lodge well

behind him; then, with the sacks across his shoulders, he shook to the

steady jog-trot which was to last for about three hours.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Mary awakened early.

The morning was grey and the sky flat and solid, with here and there

thin furrows marking its gathered fields.

She raised her head, and looked towards her father's place, but he was

not there, and the sacks were crumpled on the ground.

Finaun's great length was lying along the ground, and he was straight as

a rod. Caeltia was curved a little, and one hand was flung above his

head. Art was rolled up like a ball; his hands were gripped about his

knees, and he had kicked the sacks off his body. Eileen Ni Cooley had

her two arms under her face; she was lying on her breast, and her hair

streamed sidewards from her head along the dull grass.

As Mary lay back, for it was still too early to rise, a thought came to

her and she rose to her feet again. She thought that perhaps her father

had come softly in the night and moved the ass and cart away with him,

and that thought lifted her breast in panic.

She ran down the road and saw the cart with its shafts poked in the air,

and further away the donkey was lying on his side.

She came back on tip-toe smiling happily to herself, and, with infinite

precaution, she restored the sacks to Art's body and composed herself

again to sleep. She did not raise the camp, for she wished to give her

father all possible time so that he might return unnoticed.

And while she slept the sky unpacked its locked courses; the great

galleons of cloud went sailing to the west, and thus, fleet by fleet,

relieved those crowded harbours. The black cloud-masses went rolling on

the sky--They grew together, touched and swung apart and slipped away

with heavy haste, as when down narrow waters an armada weighs, filling

listlessly her noisy sails, while the slender spars are hauled to the

breeze; the watchmen stand at the posts, and the fenders are still hung

from the pitching sides; almost the vessels touch; the shipmen shout as

they bear heavily on their oaken poles; and then they swing again, the

great prows bear away, the waters boil between, and the loud farewells

sing faintly to the waves.

And now the sky was a bright sea sown with islands; they shrank and

crumbled and drifted away, islands no more, but a multitude of plumes

and flakes and smoky wreaths hastily scudding, for the sun had lifted

his tranquil eye on the heavens; he stared afar down the grey spaces,

and before his gaze the mists went huddling and hiding in lovely haste;

the dark spaces became white, the dark blue spaces became light blue,

and earth and sky sparkled and shone in his radiant beam.

* * * * *

The camp awakened before Mary did, and again the enquiry went as to the

whereabouts of her father:

"He will be here shortly," said Mary. "He must have gone along the road

to see if there was anything he could find for us to eat," and she

delayed the preparation of their breakfast to the last possible moment.

She spilled a pot of boiling water to that end, and she overturned the

brazier when the water boiled again.

They were about sitting to their food when Mac Cann came in sight, and

she held the meal until his arrival with his hat far to the back of his

head, the happiest of smiles on his face, and a newspaper bundle in his

hand.

Mary gave him a look of quick meaning:

"Were you able to find anything for the breakfast?" said she, and then

she was astonished.

"I was indeed," he replied, and he handed her the bulky newspaper

package.

She used that occasion to whisper to him:

"Well?"

"That's all right," said he, nodding at the bundle, but really in answer

to her query.

She opened the parcel.

There were slices of bacon in it and slices of beef; there were ten

sausages in it and the biggest half of a loaf--these, with a small flat

bottle full of rum and two pairs of stockings, made up the parcel.

"Put the sausages in a pan," said Patsy, "and share them round and we'll

eat them."

Mary did put them on the pan, and when they were cooked she shared them

round, and they were fairly eaten.

After breakfast the pipes were lit, but they rose almost immediately to

continue the journey.

"This evening," said Finaun, "we will be saying good-bye."

"Aye," said Mac Cann, "I'm sorry you're going, for we had a good time

together."

The ass took his instructions, and they went down the road. Their places

were now as they had always been--Finaun and Eileen Ni Cooley and Mary

Mac Cann went with the ass, and there was no lack of conversation in

that assembly, for sometimes they talked to one another and sometimes

they talked to the ass, but the donkey listened no matter who was being

talked to, and not a person objected to him.

Patsy and Caeltia marched sturdily at the tailboard, and they were close

in talk.

Behind them Art was ranging aimlessly, and lilting snatches of song. He

did not know the entire of any song but he knew verses of many, and he

was able to relate the tunes of these so harmoniously, with such gradual

slipping of theme into theme, that twenty minutes of his varied lilting

could appear like one consecutive piece of music.

"That lad has a great ear," said Patsy. "He could make his fortune at

the music."

"He is a musician," Caeltia replied. "That is his business when we are

in our own place, and, as you can see, it is his pleasure also."

Patsy was in high spirits. Now that he had successfully undone that

which he had done a real weight had lifted from him. But the thing was

still so near that he could not get easily from it. His head was full of

the adventures of the last few days, and although he could not speak of

them he could touch them, sound them, lift the lid of his mystery and

snap it to again, chuckling meanwhile to himself that those who were

concerned did not know what he was talking about, and yet he was talking

to himself, or to one cognisant, in hardy, adequate symbol. A puerile

game for a person whose youth had been left behind for twenty years, but

one which is often played nevertheless and by the most solemn minds.

It was with an impish carelessness that he addressed Caeltia:

"It won't be long before we are there," said he.

"That is so," was the reply.

"You'll be feeling fine, I'm thinking, when you get your own clothes on

again."

"I have not missed them very much."

"I hope your wings and your grand gear will be all right."

"Why should you doubt it?" returned the seraph.

"What," said Patsy, "if they were robbed on you! You'd be rightly in the

cart, mister, if that happened."

Caeltia puffed quietly at his pipe.

"They were robbed," said he.

"Eh!" cried Mac Cann sharply.

The seraph turned to him, his eyes brimming with laughter.

"Aye, indeed," said he.

Mac Cann was silent for a few seconds, but he did not dare to be silent

any longer.

"You're full of fun," said he sourly. "What are you talking about at

all?"

"Finaun and I knew all about it," said Caeltia, "and we were wondering

what would be done by the person."

"What did he do?" said Patsy angrily.

Caeltia returned the pipe to his mouth.

"He put them back," said he.

"Only for that," he continued, "we might have had to recover them

ourselves."

"Would you have been able to get them back?" said Mac Cann humbly.

"We would have got them back; there is nothing in the world could stand

against us two; there is nothing in the world could stand against one of

us."

Patsy jerked a thumb to where Art was lilting the open bars of "The Wind

that shakes the Barley":

"Wouldn't the boy help?" said he. "How old is the lad?"

"I don't know," smiled Caeltia. "He remembers more than one Day of a

Great Breath, but he has no power for he has never had being, and so did

not win to knowledge; he could give help, for he is very strong."

"Could you have licked Cuchulain that day?" said Patsy timidly.

"I am older than he," replied Caeltia, "that is to say I am wiser than

he."

"But he was up there with yourself and could learn the tricks."

"There is no secrecy in this world or in the others, and there are no

tricks: there is Knowledge, but no person can learn more than his head

is ready to welcome. That is why robbery is infantile and of no

importance."

"It fills the stomach," replied Patsy cunningly.

"The stomach has to be filled," said Caeltia. "Its filling is a

necessity superior to any proprietarial right or disciplinary ethic, and

its problem is difficult only for children; it is filled by the air and

the wind, the rain and the clay, and the tiny lives that move in the

clay. There is but one property worth stealing; it is never missed by

its owners, although every person who has that property offers it to all

men from his gentle hands."

"You're trying to talk like Finaun," said Patsy gloomily.

They walked then in silence for ten minutes. Every vestige of impishness

had fled from Mac Cann; he was a miserable man; his vanity was hurt and

he was frightened, and this extraordinary combination of moods plunged

him to a depression so profound that he could not climb therefrom

without assistance.

Said Caeltia to him after a little:

"There is a thing I would like to see done, my friend."

Mac Cann's reply came sagging as he hauled his limp ideas from those

pits.

"What's that, your honour?"

"I would like to see the money thrown into this ditch as we go by."

Patsy's depression vanished as at the glare of a torch and the trumpet

of danger. He nosed the air and sniffed like a horse.

"Begor!" said he. "You're full of----. There's no sense in that," said

he sharply.

"That is what I would like to see, but everybody must act exactly as

they are able to act."

"I tell you there isn't any sense in it; give me a reasonable thing to

do in the name of God and I'll do it."

"That is the only thing I want done."

"What's the use of making a fool of me?"

"Am I demanding anything?"

When they had walked a few paces:

"What is it, after all!" said Patsy proudly.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and exhibited them full of gold and

silver.

"Just a pitch of my hand and it's gone!" said he.

"That is all," said Caeltia. "It's easily done."

"So it is," growled Patsy, and he swung his arm.

But he dropped the hand again.

"Wait a minute," and he called Eileen Ni Cooley to his side.

"Walk with ourselves, Eileen, and don't be a stranger. There's something

I want to show you."

He opened his hand before her and it was flooding and flashing in gold.

She stared with the awe of one who looks on miracles.

"There's a great deal of money there," she gasped.

"There's fifteen golden pounds and some shillings in it," said Patsy,

"and here's all I care for them."

He flung his hand then and sped the money at the full force of his

shoulder.

"That's all I care for the stuff," said he, and he gripped her arm to

prevent her bounding to its recovery.

"Come on, woman dear, and leave the ha'pence alone."

Said Caeltia:

"There is something I must throw away also, for I am getting too fond of

it."

"What's that?" said Mac Cann curiously.

"It's this pipe," the seraph replied, and he balanced it by the

mouthpiece.

"Don't throw away the good pipe," cried Eileen Ni Cooley. "Am I walking

beside a pair of wild men this day?"

Patsy interrupted also.

"Hold on for a minute. Give me the pipe and you can take this one." He

took Caeltia's silver-mounted briar and he passed to the seraph his own

blackened clay.

"You can throw that one away," said he, and he popped Caeltia's pipe

into his own mouth.

"It will do that way," said Caeltia sadly.

He held the pipe by the stem, and with a sharp movement snapped it in

halves; the head fell to the ground and a small tight wad of burning

tobacco jumped from it at the shock.

"There it is," said Caeltia.

He jerked the piece of broken stem from his hand, and after sighing

deeply they marched on.

Eileen Ni Cooley was angry.

"Padraig," said she, "what made you throw all the golden money away, and

the silver money?"

Patsy regarded her with the calm eye of a king.

"Stick your arm through mine, Eileen," said he, "and let us be

comfortable as we go along, for the pair of us haven't had a talk for a

long time, and Caeltia here wants to talk to you as well as me."

"That is so," said Caeltia.

Eileen did put her arm in his, and as they stepped briskly forward she

stared at him with eyes that were round with admiration and

astonishment.

"Aren't you the queer man, Padraig!" said she.

"I suppose," said Patsy, "that you'll be slipping away from us some time

to-night?"

"Not if you want me to stay, Padraig."

They opened a new conversation on that.

CHAPTER XXXV

That day they did not stay their travel, even to eat.

Finaun was urgent, and they ate from their hands as they marched. The

ass moved his slender legs briskly, the cart rumbled, and the metals in

it clashed and thumped as the wheels jolted on the rutty path.

They met no person as they went.

From the fields near by came the fresh odour of wild grass that

out-breathed again to the sun his living breath; and the sun shone, not

fiercely, but kindly, tempering down the oblique ways his potent fire;

above their heads and slanting away on wide wings the birds were

sailing, calling a note as they went and calling again; here were trees

once more; their grave shadows slept on the road, stamping the golden

light with a die of ebony, and their grave voices whispered busily,

quietly, like the voices of many mothers who fold against fruitful

breasts the little children; so they crooned and sang rocking their

ample greenery on the air.

In the afternoon they reached the hill, close to the top of which the

angels' finery was buried.

When they had ascended this hill for nearly an hour the donkey struck

work.

He stood, and nothing would induce him to move further in that

direction. Indeed, he slewed the cart completely round, and pointed his

nose and his shafts in the direction which he considered reasonable.

They halted.

"He'll not go up there," said Mary, and she pulled the long nose to her

bosom.

"He will not," said her father. "Will you leave that ass alone, Mary.

Give him back his snout and behave yourself like a Christian girl."

"You leave me alone," said Mary, "what harm am I doing to yourself?"

"It's that I don't like to see a woman kissing an ass."

"Well, if you don't look at me you won't see anything."

"You're full of fun," said her father sternly.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to Finaun:

"He did this once before on us and we going up a tall hill in Connaught,

and although I hammered the skin off his back he wouldn't move a step;

he's a great ass, mind you, mister, and maybe we ought to have looked

for a gentler way up this hill."

Finaun was feeding tufts of grass to the donkey, and the donkey was

eating these with appetite.

"There is no need to come further," said Finaun. "We are almost in sight

of the place and can make our adieus here."

"Oh! we'll leave the beast," cried Mac Cann, "and we'll all go up to see

the last of you."

"It is better that we should part here," said Finaun gently. "We do not

wish to be seen at the last."

"You can have it your own way," said Patsy sulkily.

Finaun stood towering over Mac Cann; he placed his hands on Patsy's

shoulders and solemnly blessed him in round language, then he kissed him

tenderly on either cheek.

"Begor!" said Patsy.

And Finaun did the same for Eileen Ni Cooley and for Mary, and he kissed

the two of them on their cheeks, then he laid his palm on the donkey's

muzzle and blessed that beast, and he strode mightily up the hill.

Caeltia advanced to Patsy, but Mac Cann was embarrassed. He had been

kissed by a man, so he lit his pipe in self-defence and kept it in his

mouth.

"You're going off?" said he to Caeltia, and he puffed like a chimney.

"I'm going off," replied Caeltia in a low voice.

Patsy took the pipe from his mouth and put it into the seraph's hand.

"Here," said he, "take a last pull at that and ease your heart."

Caeltia did take it, and he smoked it, and it did ease his heart.

"I'll give you the spade out of the cart," continued Patsy, "for you'll

have to dig the things up. There it is, and it doesn't matter whether

it's lost or not."

"It is good-bye now," said Caeltia, shouldering the spade, and he

returned the pipe to Patsy, who put it instantly in his mouth.

Caeltia held out his hand and Mac Cann put his own into it.

While their hands were together Patsy was seized with compunction--he

drew the seraph aside a few paces:

"Listen!" said he. "I played a trick on you the time I was taking the

money out of my pocket to throw it away."

"Yes?" said Caeltia.

"I let one of the gold pieces slip through my fingers, and it's lying at

the bottom of my pocket at this minute, but I'll throw it away, mister

honey, if you say so."

Caeltia looked at him, and a smile of great contentment crept over his

lips.

"If I were you," said he, "I'd keep it."

Mac Cann nodded at him very solemnly:

"I'll keep it," said he earnestly, "and I'll spend it."

Caeltia then said his adieus to the others, and he tramped up the hill

with the spade balanced in his hand.

The piece of gold was burning in Patsy's pocket. He turned to Art:

"Well, young boy! there's my hand and good luck be with you; give up

racing about and climbing trees and you'll be all right; you've the

makings of a good hand on you, and that's a great thing, and you've got

the music."

"Good-bye," said Art, and they shook hands.

Eileen Ni Cooley took his hand also, then she and Patsy strode to the

cart, and with the donkey they moved down the hill.

Mary stood in front of Art, and she did not look at him; she turned her

grave face away, and stared sidewards where the late sunshine drowsed in

gold on the rough slopes. She put her hand out to him.

He took her hand and held it between his own; he raised it to his lips

and he held it there pressing against his mouth.

He dropped it, and stood back a pace staring at her; he struck his hands

together in a wild movement; he turned and ran swiftly after his

companions.

These two had never spoken to each other.

Near the top of the hill he came on Finaun and Caeltia, and the three

went together.

In a little they reached the point in the road where they had slept

during their first night on earth, and where they had eaten their first

meal on a sunny morning. Distant a few paces they saw the tree.

Caeltia dug there until he uncovered the sacks. He pulled these from the

clay and opened them, and each of the angels retrieved his own

belongings from the medley.

Finaun was urgent and thoughtful. He apparelled himself hastily, while,

with less speed, Caeltia also achieved his change. But Art sat on the

ground fingering his raiment, and seemed to be lost in a contemplation

of the grass beside him.

Finaun was ready. He stood upright, a kingly figure, shimmering in

purple folds. On his head a great crown, closed at the top; across his

shoulder a chain of heavy gold, and depending on his breast a broad

plaque of gold that blazed.

He looked at the others and nodded, then he leaped, and at a hundred

feet the sun flashed from his wings, and he looked like a part of the

rainbow.

Now Caeltia was ready, standing in cloth of gold and lovely ornaments of

hammered silver. He scanned once more the drowsing landscape; he smiled

on Art; he sprang aloft and abroad and sped upwards in a blinding gleam.

Art raised himself.

He lifted the crimson robe that was dashed with gold, the crimson

buskins feathered at the heel, the wide crown of short points. He placed

these on the ground and stood for a time looking down the road, while

the many-coloured pinions streamed lengthily from his hand.

Suddenly he frowned, and, with the wings still dragging, he ran down the

path.

In five minutes he came to the place where they had left the ass, but it

was no longer there. Far below on the curving ways he saw the donkey

moving quietly. Mac Cann and Eileen Ni Cooley were going by each other's

side, and Patsy's arm was about the woman.

He looked around, and at a little distance saw the girl beside a bush.

She was lying on her breast, her face was hidden into the ground, and

she was motionless.

He walked to her.

"Mary," said he, "I have come to say farewell."

She moved as at a shock. She rose to her feet, and she did not look at

him, and this was the first time that these two had talked together.

He bent to her beseechingly:

"I have come to say farewell," said he.

Again she put her hand into his:

"Say your say," quoth she, "and go your road," and with that she did

look at him, sternly.

He loosed her hand; his eyes flamed; he stamped the road; he swung his

arms aloft gripping the wings, and, with a fierce movement, he ripped

them in twain; he put the halves together and tore again, then, with a

sweep of his hands, fluttered the shining plumes away and on the wind.

"Now!" quoth he, with a laugh.

"Oh!" she stammered, staring, terrified, incredulous.

"Let you and I go down after the people," he said.

But Mary was weeping, and as they paced down the narrow track he laid a

great arm about her shoulder.

Printed in the United States of America.

Transcriber Notes:

Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.

Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.

Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the

speakers. Those words were retained as-is.

Throughout the document was creative spelling

Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected

unless otherwise noted.

On page 202, the quotation marks were corrected around "Bring him here,".

On page 203, a quotation mark was added before "Down went the seraph Cuchulain".