Everywhere Ethne proclaimed their lineage. “We are the children of Tuathal the Legitimate! We trace our descent through the race of Finnfuathairt! Cormac of Fail, known in Britain as the Black Horse; and Ethne of the Raven Hair--foster sister to Cormac, and likewise descended from his family, through Ethne the Terrible!” Her cry was taken up far and wide; for Hibernians never tired of reciting pedigrees. And, here and there, one would come forward who remembered her in childhood; and how she had been sent for from Britain when her mother fostered Cormac. Every hour the crowd around them grew larger. From marsh and forest wild men came forth, clad in skins with red naked limbs; their beards and long hair plaited, strange devices tattooing their freckled skins. Even from the weans beneath the earth, short, long-armed men, dark and swarthy, scrambled out and ran, fleet-footed, in the rear--some, among them, leaping on the great Irish hounds, rode in this manner amongst the throng. Thus riding on in triumph, they left the hills behind, and entered the great central plain of Hibernia. The day drew near its close; but, as the shadows fell, Cormac thought that the crowd around him grew thicker. He had pictured these wide plains desolate and uninhabited; and now it seemed to him they swarmed with people and with flocks and herds--everywhere he looked he saw lights twinkling. Ethne had chosen for their journey the time of the Beltane Festival. “It is a fitting time to enter the sacred heart of Hibernia,” she had said to Cormac, in speaking of the two great Druidical festivals, Beltane and Santheine. “Therefore I have chosen it; it is our time of joy--so hallowed by custom that even some of the Christians share it with us.” There was such excitement and fascination in these ancient festivals that the wild spirits of the Hibernians were unable to resist them; when, as Christians, they wished to do so. They entered often from mere love of excitement and danger; not realising--or realising too late--that they were offering homage to the sun-god of the Druids who was no other than Baal--the Baal of the Syrians, the Phœnicians, and the ancient Hebrews--the Bosheth, or shameful thing of the Jewish writings. CHAPTER VII. INTO THE ARMS OF MOLOCH! “All hail! all hail! Son of the House of Tuathal! Twig from the tree of Tara!” These words were cried in Cormac’s ear next evening; as he and Ethne gave their horses drink at a running stream. The cry was followed by a shout of victory as a Druid--the horse beneath him wet with sweat--leapt across the stream; his beard and garments streamed in the wind as he disappeared in the smoke of a circle of fires. “Behold! behold!” cried Ethne, leaning forward and pointing to the circle of fires. “You have seen the winner!” With a wild cry, she struck her horse--the creature bounded forward and she disappeared after the Druid.