“These Christians! These accursed Christians! Everything I set my hand to they come and spoil! Oh, when I hold Hibernia in my hands, let them look to themselves! I will burn their monasteries over their heads as the Saxons burnt our palaces! I will thrust them to the sea--I will throw them to the bears! I will cut out their tongues and give them to my dogs. I will cut their legs from under them, when they stretch their hands in prayer, I will strike at them too! Footless and handless they shall crawl in the dust before me!” In her rage she ground her teeth. Then turned quickly to the man. “When will you try again?” “I do not know! We must wait until Beltane. I told you that long ago. We shall have more chance then of a victim!” “A victim--is that your word? I tell you if the ancient faith were as it should be, we should be selecting victims--not seeking them! What news have you in other quarters--are our people arming themselves?” “Everywhere!” “And the first attack is to be made at Druimceta?” “Ay, and a fitting place, too, to strike at them--since it is there, instead of the ancient place at Tara, that King Aedh has chosen to assemble the princes.” CHAPTER VI. THE SACRED HEART OF HIBERNIA. “To-morrow--at dawn!” said Ethne. “Be ready!” Cormac was well and strong again; on the morrow he was setting forth to see the wild plains of Hibernia--and Ethne would be at his side. He was once more her slave. At first he had said that he would part from her, would never look on her face again, if she belonged to that foul and horrible faith. But it was in vain he strove against a boyish passion for a woman more than half-a-score of years his senior--the very fury of her outbursts fascinated him. So it came to pass that the old relations were established between them, and little reference made to the cause of their division. Though he rose early on the following day, Ethne was before him; seated on a beautiful white horse and holding by the rein a magnificent black stallion. The creature was a pure bred Hibernian race-horse. His trappings were mounted with gold; a magnificent purple cloak lay across the saddle, ready for Cormac’s use; it was lightly flecked with gold--Cormac saw at once it was one of the speckled cloaks so much in vogue amongst the Druids. “I told you you should find a horse awaiting you,” said Ethne, “and that it would be of the true colour.” “But you did not tell me it would be of the purest breed the world can show!” exclaimed Cormac, as he leapt to the saddle. The horse rose on its hind quarters and pranced; the colour mounted with joy to the boy’s face.