“He rescued me from death,” I cried; “he warmed me with his love. He has taught me all a noble youth should know.” “You love him?” “I love him.” “Listen, boy. They think they have destroyed the Desmonds, root and branch, as a man might tread out under his heel a nest of vipers. Yet hope is not dead. The line of the Geraldines is not destroyed. Return to your own people and leave this evil knight.” “Alas, I cannot,” I said, “for I love him.” “The blood of your kin is red on his hands.” “And yet I love him.” “He and his freebooters have wasted the country that was the portion of your fathers. Whom he spared to slay famine and pestilence have slain.” “I should have died of the hunger,” said I, “had he not delivered me.” “And you will follow him?” “I will follow him.” “Wherever he goes?” “To death.” “To death and evil. Very well, Walter Fitzmaurice, of the race of Desmond, then your kindred’s blood be on your hands, as they are on those for which you have held basin and ewer that they might wash. Water will not wash them clean, nor yours that share in the stain. He shall die by violence as he has slain many another—and as for you, what penance, what fast and prayer shall suffice to wipe out your sin? You have chosen, Walter Fitzmaurice Fitzgerald. Take care that you have not chosen forever.” The voice rose in a shriek of menace, and I caught sight of burning eyes under the cowl. Suddenly through the hooting of the owl in the myrtles there rang, shrilly as a trumpet, the crowing of a cock. The wind from the grave rose in my nostrils and filled me with a great terror. I turned giddy and swayed hither and thither, and the room went up and down under my feet. The next thing I knew was that the sun was in the room, and I was lying with my cheek on the open page of the Virgil. Nothing was changed in the room since last night, except only that the rushlight had dwindled to a pool of cold fat; but how long it had been out I could not gauge. Slowly the happenings of the night came back to me; but now in the warm daylight who thought on ghosts and goblins, or was afraid of them if they came? Where the owl had hooted over night a blackbird was singing, bold and bright. The lawn of the Manor-house was under dew. As I looked a peacock spread his tail in the sun, and his more sober mate stood to admire him. Sitting there I rubbed my eyes. Why, I had awakened just as I had fallen asleep, worn out with the sorrow of loneliness, and the trial to fix my discontented thoughts upon my book. I stood up and caught sight of myself in a mirror. Then I realized that it is ill to sleep full-dressed. I was pale, and my hair strayed in disorder. My doublet looked as if I had had the habit to sleep in it, and my cloak was awry. I had been no sight to please my lord, who loved daintiness, and observed it himself in the strangest circumstances.