But ere the strong-lunged Cogoran could wind his horn, the hearts of all the company grew numb with fear as across the water the low, clear strains of a warning-song sounded from the haunted gray-stone,--the mystic rock of Carrick-lee, that overhung the tumbling rapids: "Never yet for fear of foe, By the ford of Killaloe, Stooped the crests of heroes free-- Sons of Cas by Carrick-lee. "Falls the arm that smites the foe, By the ford of Killaloe; Chilled the heart that boundeth free, By the rock of Carrick-lee. "He who knows not fear of foe, Fears the ford of Killaloe; Fears the voice that chants his dree, From the rock of Carrick-lee." Young Brian was full of the superstition of his day--superstition that even yet lives amid the simple peasantry of Ireland, and peoples rocks, and woods, and streams with good and evil spirits, fairies, sprites, and banshees; and no real, native Irish lad could fail to tremble before the mysterious song. Sorely troubled, he turned to Cogoran inquiringly, and that faithful retainer said in a rather shaky voice: "'T is your warning-song, O noble young chief! 't is the voice of the banshee of our clan--_A-oib-hinn_, the wraith of Carrick-lee." Just then from behind the haunted gray-rock a fair young girl appeared, tripping lightly across the large stepping-stones that furnished the only means of crossing the ford of Killaloe. "See--see!" said Cogoran, grasping his young lord's arm; "she comes for thee. 'T is thy doom, O Master--the fiend of Carrick-lee!" "So fair a fiend should bring me naught of grief," said young Brian, stoutly enough, though it must be confessed his heart beat fast and loud. "O Spirit of the Waters!" he exclaimed; "O banshee of Clan Cas! why thus early in his life dost thou come to summon the son of Kennedy the King?" The young girl turned startled eyes upon the group of armed and warlike men, and grasping the skirt of her white and purple _lenn_, turned as if to flee,--when Cogoran, with a loud laugh, cried out: "Now, fool and double fool am I,--fit brother to Sitric the blind, the black King of Dublin! Why, 't is no banshee, O noble young chief, 't is but thy foster-sister, Eimer, the daughter of Conor, Eimer the golden-haired!" "Nay, is it so? St. Senanus be praised!" said Brian, greatly relieved. "Cross to us, maiden; cross to us," he said. "Fear nothing; 't is but Brian, thy foster-brother, returning to his father's home." The girl swiftly crossed the ford and bowed her golden head in a vassal's welcome to the young lord. "Welcome home, O brother," she said. "Even now, my lord, thy father awaits the sound of thy horn as he sits in the great seat beneath his kingly shield. And I----" "And thou, maiden," sad Brian, gayly, "thou must needs lurk behind the haunted rock of Carrick-lee, to freeze the heart of young Brian at his home-coming, with thy banshee song."