He realised, too late, that the sun-god of the Druids was Baal. A flood of light was poured on some of Ethne’s wild assertions--that the Druids held the ancient faith from which the Hebrew prophets had led the Jews away. Ay, it was Baal, the Druids worshipped--at the temple of the sun in the Slieve Bloom mountains--at the place of sacred fire near Tara--everywhere, Baal. And in their worship the very depths of iniquity were reached; bloodshed and license went hand in hand. He writhed anew at the thought of his shares in the festival. He could not rid himself of the memory of those twisting serpent dances, leading to scenes of bloodshed, excess, and fire. As he lay in grief and shame upon the grass, a few hot tears dropped from his closed eyelid. Suddenly some strong instinct caused him to sit up and open his eyes. Before him was Ethne of the Raven Hair. She had ridden noiselessly over the plain towards him, and had reined in her horse at a little distance; she sat motionless on her saddle looking at him with a smile of scorn on her face. “You ran away!” she said. She was again dressed in spotless saffron coloured robes, her long hair flowing, smooth and glossy, under her veil, the golden crescent glistening on her forehead; her adornments were richer than usual--besides her golden torques she wore emeralds and British pearls on the clasps of her robes; her fingers were almost covered with rings. She was mounted on the same white stallion on which she had made her journey to the plains; here and there he showed blood-stains, and some yellow patches where the flames had caught and singed him. “And you have lost your horse,” she continued. “I cannot find him anywhere.” The boy made no answer. He looked at her as he might have looked at an evil spirit. Now that he faced her for the first time since the dreadful festival, he could not have said whether he hated her or not--all he knew was that his feelings towards her had changed. He could not forget the last dreadful scene in which he had seen her amongst the foremost of those who had offered the human sacrifice. When he had seen her lift her gory knife, uttering fierce incantations meanwhile, he had fled. “What a fool you were, Cormac,” said Ethne, “to leave just before we divined.” “Let me forget!” cried Cormac, striking his brow, as though in agony. “Let me forget--I will forget!” The Druidess looked at him in amazement. His emotion was a further instance of the work of this strange faith, Christianity. “Unclean!” he cried, and again with the same frenzy, “Unclean, unclean! Oh, Ethne, your religion is cruel--monstrous--devilish!”