this candle burns.” Whereupon the chief sibyl put out the candle and gave it to Gestr’s mother to keep, charging her not to light it again until her son should wish to die. Gestr lived three hundred years; then he kindled the candle and expired.(369) (M101) The conception of the external soul meets us also in Celtic stories. Thus a tale, told by a blind fiddler in the island of Islay, relates how a giant carried off a king’s wife and his two horses and kept them in his den. But the horses attacked the giant and mauled him so that he could hardly crawl. He said to the queen, “If I myself had my soul to keep, those horses would have killed me long ago.” “And where, my dear,” said she, “is thy soul? By the books I will take care of it.” “It is in the Bonnach stone,” said he. So on the morrow when the giant went out, the queen set the Bonnach stone in order exceedingly. In the dusk of the evening the giant came back, and he said to the queen, “What made thee set the Bonnach stone in order like that?” “Because thy soul is in it,” quoth she. “I perceive,” said he, “that if thou didst know where my soul is, thou wouldst give it much respect.” “That I would,” said she. “It is not there,” said he, “my soul is; it is in the threshold.” On the morrow she set the threshold in order finely, and when the giant returned, he asked her, “What brought thee to set the threshold in order like that?” “Because thy soul is in it,” said she. “I perceive,” said he, “that if thou knewest where my soul is, thou wouldst take care of it.” “That I would,” said she. “It is not there that my soul is,” said he. “There is a great flagstone under the threshold. There is a wether under the flag. There is a duck in the wether’s belly, and an egg in the belly of the duck, and it is in the egg that my soul is.” On the morrow when the giant was gone, they raised the flagstone and out came the wether. They opened the wether and out came the duck. They split the duck, and out came the egg. And the queen took the egg and crushed it in her hands, and at that very moment the giant, who was coming home in the dusk, fell down dead.(370) In another Celtic tale, a sea beast has carried off a king’s daughter, and an old smith declares that there is no way of killing the beast but one. “In the island that is in the midst of the loch is Eillid Chaisfhion—the white-footed hind, of the slenderest legs, and the swiftest step, and though she should be caught, there would spring a hoodie out of her, and though the hoodie should be caught, there would spring a trout out of her, but there is an egg in the mouth of the trout, and the soul of the beast is in the egg, and if the egg breaks, the beast is dead.” As usual the egg is broken and the beast dies.(371)