"Aye, the earl's love!" she gasped out, falling back. "I was his love in truth, Yellow Brian, and he loved me above all the rest, though another's hand closed his eyes and laid him to earth in Rome. I knew you would come, Brian--I saw you at Drogheda, though you saw me not, and I bade you come here into the West, and I have watched over you--" She coughed horribly, clutching at Brian's arm. He stared down at her in amazement, for the incredible story seemed true enough. This old hag had been that Noreen of Breffny of whom he had heard much--the fairest maid of the North, whom the great earl had loved to the last, though the church had not blessed their union. Brian's old Irish nurse had often told him of the "Breffny lily," and it was bitter and hard to realize that this ancient hag, withered and shrunk and done to death by the Dark Master's men, had been the fairest maid in Ulster. She gasped out a little more of her story, and Brian found that his wild surmises had been true; after seeing him and recognizing him for one of the earl's house, she had instantly led his mind to this part of the country, being aware of the strife between O'Donnell and Nuala O'Malley. It had been a crazed notion enough, and since then she had kept as near to him as possible in the half-sane idea that she might help him. How she had managed to do it ever remained a mystery to Brian, since his marches had been none of the slowest, but she had done so. "Where are--your men?" she exclaimed after a little. Brian told her what had chanced at the castle, and she broke out in a last wild cackling laugh. "Tyr-owen's luck!" she cried. "Betrayed and blasted, betrayed and blasted--but the root of the tree is still strong, Yellow Brian--give me your blessing, master--give Noreen your blessing before you go to Rome, Hugh _mo mhuirnin_--" Brian's face blanched and his hands trembled, for he saw that her wandering mind took him for his grandsire. "_Dhia agus mhuire orth_," he murmured, and with a little sob the Black Woman died. Silence fell upon the dingle, as Brian gazed down at the woman his grandfather had loved, and whose love had been no less. Then Turlough pushed his horse closer, looking down with a shrewd leer. "Said she not that it would be a black day when you met her again, master?" he queried with awe in his voice. "I think--" "Keep silence!" commanded Brian shortly. "Get down from that horse and dig a grave." "But the ground is frozen--" began old Turlough in dismay. Brian gave him one look, and the old man hastily dismounted, crossing himself and mumbling. Brian joined him, and they managed to scoop out a shallow grave with knife and sword, laid the old woman in it, and covered her up again. It was a sorry burial for the love of the great earl, but it was the best they could do.