“I have seen the Chief,” said Laeg, whose doubts had vanished and whose whole manner had changed.  “Cuchullain, you must go.  You remember how we went together to Brusna by the Boyne, and what wonders they showed us in the sacred crypt.  Yet this is a place more marvelous—­thrice.  Well indeed did Liban call it the Plain of Fire, for a breath of fire is in the air for leagues and leagues around.  On the lake where the Sidhe dwell the fishers row by and see nothing, or, mayhap, a flicker of phantasmal trees around the dun.  These trees are rooted in a buried star beneath the earth; when its heart pulsates they shine like gold, aye, and are fruited with ruby lights.  Indeed this Labraid is one of the Gods.  I saw him come through the flaming rivers of the underworld.  He was filled with the radiance.  I am not given to dread the Sidhe, but there was that in him which compelled awe:  for oh, he came from the homes that were anciently ours—­ours who are fallen, and whose garments once bright are stained by the lees of time.  He greeted me kindly.  He knew me by my crimson mantle with five folds.  He asked for you; indeed they all wish to have you there.”

“Did he say aught further?”

“No, he spoke but little; but as I returned by Mag Luada I had a vision.  I saw you standing under the sacred Tree of Victory.  There were two mighty ones, one on each side of you, but they seemed no greater than you.”

“Was Fand there?” asked Cuchullain.

“Yes,” said Laeg reluctantly; “I saw her and spoke to her, although I did not wish to.  I feared for myself.  Ethne and Emer are beautiful women, but this woman is not like them.  She is half divine.  The holiest Druids might lose his reason over her.”

“Let us go thither,” said Cuchullain.

The night was clear, breathless, pure as diamond.  The giant lights far above floated quietly in the streams of space.  Below slept the lake mirroring the shadowy blue of the mountains.  The great mounds, the homes of the Sidhe, were empty; but over them floated a watchful company, grave, majestic, silent, waiting.  In stately procession their rich, gleaming figures moved to and fro in groups of twos and threes, emblazoning the dusky air with warm colors.  A little apart, beyond the headland at the island’s edge, two more commanding than the rest communed together.  The wavering water reflected head-long their shining figures in its dark depths; above them the ancient blue of the night rose as a crown.  These two were Labraid and the warrior of Murthemney restored to all his Druid power.  Terrible indeed in its beauty, its power, its calm, was this fiery phantasmal form beside the king of the Sidhe.