He began chanting softly; a golden gleam as of sunshine swept circling about him; then as the chant ceased a look of wild exultation came to his face, and he threw up his arms, so that for an instant he had the aspect he wore when guiding the great war-chariot of Cuchullain into the thick of battle.  His swaying form fell softly upon the greensward, and above it floated a luminous figure clad in a crimson mantle, but whose face and bare arms were of the color of burnished bronze.  So impassive and commanding was his face that even Liban faltered a little as she stole to his side.  Cuchullain watched the two figures as they floated slowly over the dark expanse of the lake, till they suddenly disappeared, seemingly into its quiet surface.  Then with his face buried in his hands he sat motionless, absorbed in deep thought, while he waited until the return of Laeg.

The recumbent form of Liban rose from the crouch where it had lain entranced.  Before her stood the phantom figure of Laeg.  All in the house save herself were asleep, but with the conscious sleep of the Sidhe, and their shades spoke welcome to Laeg, each saying to him in liquid tones such as come never from lips of clay: 

“Welcome to you, Laeg; welcome because of her who brings you, of him who sent you, and of yourself.”

He saw about him only women of the Sidhe, and knew that he was in one of the schools established by the wise men of Eri for maidens who would devote their lives to holiness and Druid learning; maidens who should know no earthly love but fix their eyes ever on the light of the Sun-god.  But not seeing Fand among them, he turned with an impatient gesture to Liban.  She read his gesture aright, and said: 

“My sister dwells apart; she has more knowledge, and presides over all of us.”

Leaving the room, she walked down a corridor, noiselessly save for the rustle of her long robe of green, which she drew closely about her, for the night was chill.  An unaccustomed awe rested upon her, and to Laeg she whispered: 

“The evil enchanters have power tonight, so that your life would be in danger if you had not the protection of a maiden of the Sun.”

But a smile wreathed for an instant the bronze-hue face of the shadowy charioteer, as he murmured in tones of kindness near to pity, softening his rude words: 

“Till now nor Cuchullain nor I have ever felt the need of a woman’s protection, and I would much rather he were here now than I.”

Drawing aside a heavy curtain, Liban entered her sister’s room.  They saw Fand seated at a little table.  A scroll lay on it open before her, but her eyes were not fixed on it.  With hands clasped under her chin she gazed into the vacancies with eyes of far-away reflection and longing.  There was something pathetic in the intensity and wistfulness of the lonely figures.  She turned and rose to meet them, a smile of rare tenderness lighting up her face as she