reached their ears. And they saw the man glide silently across the opening, and take his stand in the shadow of the building, as though he were watching those within. Then stooping on his hands, Cahal drew himself slowly through the long grass toward the house, and Brassil followed, crawling like a lizard. But they lay motionless when they saw the watcher, suddenly gliding forth again from the shadow, come directly towards them. And Brassil drew his skean, and silently gathered himself for a spring; but the man, turning, passed them so close, that be swept the dew into Brassil's face, and his quick footsteps died away upon their ears as he went down to the plain. Then Cahal rose boldly, saying to Brassil

"It is the king's spy. Since the clans went to the war I have watched him from the Fire Tower, prowling around, by night and day, and now he goes to bear word to the king. Brassil! if ever thy head was clear, thy heart steady, and thy limbs untiring, prove it now; for we have nought but thy faith and courage to match against speed, cunning, and ruthless power."

Within the women's chamber, that looked northwards, in the dwelling of Feidlimh the Archpriest of Uladh, sat Deirdré the king's bethrothed. Her harp was on her knee, and her fingers wandered dreamily and unconsciously among the strings, while her eye sparkled with her thoughts, for her heart was far away. At the further end of the chamber lay Morna, the king's daughter, sleeping on a couch of soft deerskins; and the flickering pine-torch flung playful waves of light on the golden tresses that rippled around her shoulders. And even as she slept, the warm bloom glowed on her fair cheek, and the happy thoughts of her dreams sent a merry smile to her lips. Near her sat Larha, Deirdre's nurse, croning a mournful old song, in a low voice, as she rocked herself to and fro, with her eyes fixed fondly and admiringly on Deirdre's noble face. Now Larha was mighty in stature; comely, bold, and swarthy of aspect, and strong and valiant as the best warrior in Eman. (In her youth she was wedded to a hunter, and they dwelt alone far out in the forest. And it fell on a time that a band from a wandering tribe of Firbolg came to them, and the hunter gave them welcome, food, and shelter; but when they were heated with mead, the leader spoke insultingly to Larha, and she struck him to the ground. Then the strangers rose in anger to avenge their chief, and fired the dwelling. But Larha took her child, and with her husband clove a way through them, and escaped to the forest. But the hunter was sorely wounded, and an arrow struck the babe as it lay on Larha's bosom, so that it died in her arms. Then on the fourth day after they fled, her husband died before her eyes, and she buried him in the forest, and came into Eman like a raging she-wolf. And as she wandered into the dwelling of Feidlimh the Archpriest, the babe Deirdré stretched forth her hands towards her, for her mother was dead. Then Larha's heart opened to the child, and she became her nurse, and loved her more than aught beneath the sun; and so she dwelt always in the house of Feidlimh the Archpriest.) Now as Larha sat croning by the side of Morna, the king's daughter, she heard the whining as of a hound without, and a sound as though he were scratching upon the door. And then, as she listened, rose, clear and shrill, the cry of a night-hawk over the dwelling. And Deirdré

starting, while her cheek flushed red, and her eye sparkled brightly, said

"Larha, hearest thou? It is the signal of Clan Usna."

Then Larha, seizing a bright axe that lay against the wall of the chamber, strode to the door, and flinging open the upper half of it, demanded if any stood without. And a small, shrill yoice answered, but when Larha looked forth she saw none. Then she deemed there was witchcraft, and making a sign against the evil eye, would have closed the shutter again, but the deep tone of a man fell upon her ears, saying

“Hold, Larha! we are friends."

And the mighty bulk of Brassil the son of Conloch came forth from the shadow. And Larha, looking hardly at him, said—

"If thou art Brassil, the friend of Clan Usna, thou art welcome; but whence hast thou two voices ?"

And Brassil answered by raising Cahal Caoum, for Cahal's head would not reach the level of the half-door. Then Larha took Cahal up in her arms, and kissed him, for she loved him much, as did all the people. But Cahal strove indignantly, and demanded to be set down, and Larha, laughing, set him on the table before Deirdré. Then Cahal waving her aside loftily, said to Deirdré

"Lady, if thou lovest Clan Usna, or wouldst live for Naisi, thou must fly. The toils are thickening round thee, but we have this night rent a passage through them, and each moment is worth life's-blood." Then Deirdré looked wonderingly at him, and she said

Why, what meanest thou, Cahal?"

And he answered

"Since Clan Usna went to the wars, the king's spy hath marked ye by day and night. And this night, as I watched from the Fire Tower, I saw him creeping after Brassil stealthily to the door. And when he had heard Brassil's message, he rose and went in haste to the Rath, and spoke with the king. Then I followed, and I saw Rori the Jester speaking with the king. And Rori came forth and called for Credna his cousin; and as I lay in the hazel-grove on the Upper Rath, I heard Rori bid Credna prepare forthwith two hundred men. Then they spoke lower, and I marked Rori pointing hither with his finger. Then I knew there was evil abroad; but as I waited to escape hither unseen, Rori came up again with Brassil, and in short space I saw them descending from the king's presence, and going together to Rori's dwelling. Then I took a strong cord with me, and went through the casement, and we bound Rori, and have left him wherewith to occupy his mind and his tongue till morning; and we have also sent Credna astray till the moon rises. And so, if thou dost not fly with us now, and seek Clan Usna, thou shalt never see them again, save to thy sorrow; for the king will slay us, and carry thee away."

And Morna had waked with the sound of the voices, and sat listening in silence; but now she rose, and said to Deirdré

"Cahal hath spoken well and truly, Deirdré; and thou must fly with him, and I will remain and appease my father's wrath, for he will hearken to me when none else dare come before him. And I know that evil tongues and talebearers have angered him against Clan Usna; but

when he finds them noble and true, he will forgive them thy love at my prayer."

But Deirdré shook her head mournfully, and Morna added whispering

"And when thou art Ardan's sister I will love thee more than ever." Then Deirdré said

"I cannot leave thee thus, Morna."

And Morna's eye lighted with her father's proud look as she answered-

"And why shouldst thou not leave me, Deirdré? king's daughter fears aught of danger in Eman ?”

Deemest thou the

Then she drew Deirdré towards her, and whispered earnestly. And Cahal called to Brassil as he stood in the doorway, watching towards the forest, silent and dark as a shadow. And he said

"Come hither, Brassil, and hearken. Ere the moon stands over Eman, Credna's wolf-hounds will be howling on our track. And lest Clan Usna come by the mountains, I will take the path by Slieve Fuadh to meet them; but thou must follow the plain with the women. Take them with thee therefore, silently and quickly, to the Fire Tower, and there in the bawn thou wilt find two steeds tethered and waiting. Mount them, and ride as though the plague were behind ye; for ye must be at the foot of Gortfinna ere the stars fade in the sky. Then when ye have passed the Ballagh Dhu, cut away the great pine that bridges the gap behind thee, and thou hast nought more to fear from

Clan Rudri."

Then Brassil signed assent, for he knew that Cahal's counsel was wise and good, and beckoning to Larha, he went forth. Then Deirdré quitted her embrace of Morna and followed Larha, with wet cheek and pale face; and Cahal watched impatiently till the dark shadows of the forest hid them. Then he turned to speak with Morna, but her lip was quivering, and her cheek was flushed, and the tear was brimming in her eyes. And Cahal kissed her hand, and went forth in silence.

THE DEAD MOTHER.

A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND.

FYTTE I.

JARL CHRISTIAN sailed upon the sea,
Dear to the blessèd saints was he.

God's angels, with their wings of white,
Guarded him both in storm and fight.

For Christian's sword had dyed the flood
As deep as hell with heathen blood.

He slew the heathen, young and old,
And burned their towns, and took their gold.

God gave good gifts to Christian then-
A ship, fleet-sailing, feared of men ;

A woman-loving, gentle, fair,
Of stately beauty past compare :

The Ladye Elinore, and three
Fair daughters to her lord bare she.

Three beds of gold the ladye made,
Those children there each night were laid.

And night and morn she took good heed
They had both ale, and wine, and meade.

"My lot is blessed among men!
What lack I yet?" said Christian then.

That night his ship lay wrecked on shore,
That night died Ladye Elinore.

FYTTE II.

Much of grief did Jarl Christian dree
For that good ship and that ladye.

FYTTE III.

The women in the south are fair,

They have grey eyne and gold-bright hair;

And from the south a woman came,
Whose beauty shone on men like flame.

On her white breast she bound a spell
That made Jarl Christian love her well.

She kissed Jarl Christian tenderly,
That he might not hear his children cry;

And she spoke love-runes into his ear,
That he might forget his children dear.

Those three fair babes waxed thin and pale,
Yet never gave she them bread or ale.

Their white limbs shivered in the cold,
For she took away their beds of gold;

So that they cried to God full sore
For their dead mother, Elinore.

"Oh! would God give our mother back, Good ale and bread we might not lack.

Oh! might our mother now behold,
We should not shiver in the cold."

Their mother heard her children cry,
Far off with God above the sky;

God's Mother, at that mother's prayer,
Had pity of those children fair.

Who bade her spirit fly away

To the graveyard where her body lay:

The body was numb, and stiff, and cold,

And the gravestone scarce from the grave she rolled !

Oh, woe was that poor ghost alone,
To lift that heavy marble-stone !

Cold blew the wind in the village-street,
She had no cloak but the coffin-sheet.

Like tombs the houses towered on high,
The night-dogs barked as the ghost went by;

And she came where, by Jarl Christian's door,
Her eldest daughter sat weeping sore.

"My child! what dost thou here so late,
In wind and rain, at thy father's gate?"